AT   LOS  ANGELES 


THE  GIFT  OF 

MAY  TREAT  MORRISON 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

ALEXANDER  F  MORRISON 


WASHINGTON    IRVING 


cBRACEBRIDGE 
HALL 

By  WASHINGTON  JRVING 


R.  F.  FENNO  &  COMPANY:  PUB- 
LISHERS :  9  &  ii  E.  SIXTEENTH 
STREET  :  NEW  YORK  CITY  :  1900 


P5 
£057 

A  i 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL;  OR,  THE  HUMOURISTS. 


CONTENTS. 


VOLUME  ONE.  PAQB 

THE  HALL 10 

THE  BUSY  MAN 12 

FAMILY  SERVANTS 16 

THE  WIDOW 21 

THE  LOVERS 24 

FAMILY  RELKJUES 28 

A.N  OLD  SOLDIER 30 

THE  WIDOW'S  RETINUE . .  33 

READY-MONEY  JACK 86 

BACHELORS 40 

WIVES 43 

STORY-TELLING 47 

STOUT  GENTLEMAN 48 

FOREST  TREES 57 

LITERARY  ANTIQUARY 61 

THE  FARM-HOUSE 66 

HORSEMANSHIP 69 

LOVE  SYMPTOMS 72 

FALCONRY 74 

HAWKING .  78 

SAINT  MARK'S  EVE 83 

GENTILITY 89 

FORTUNE-TELLING 93 

LOVE-CHARMS 96 

THE  LIBRARY 99 

STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA 101 

VOLUME  TWO. 

ENGLISH  COUNTRY  GSNTLKHEN 168 

BACHELOR'S  CONFESSIONS 169 

ENGLISH  GRAVITY 172 

GYPSIES 176 

MAY-DAY  CUSTOMS 180 


430076 


4  CONTENTS. 

VILLAGE  WORTHMS     188 

THE  SCHOOLMASTER 186 

THE  SCHOOL 189 

VILLAGE  POLITICIAH 198 

THE  ROOKEKY 196 

MAY-DAY 301 

THE  MANUSCRIPT 208 

ANNETTE  DELARBBB 210 

TRAVELLING 2S8 

THE  CULPRIT 240 

FAMILY  MISFORTUNES 245 

LOVER'S  TROUBLES . . . , 248 

THE  HISTORIAN 252 

THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE 254 

DOLPH  HEYLIGER 2.7T 

THE  STORM-SHIP 288 

THK  WEDDING 811 

TH*  AUTHOR'S  FAREWELL..... aid 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL; 

OK, 

THE     HUMOURISTS 

A  MEDLEY. 


BY  GEOFFEEY  CRAYON,  GEN-L 


Uuder  this  cloud  I  walk,  Gentlemen  ;  pardon  my  rude  assault.  I  am  a  traveller, 
who,  having  surveyed  most  of  the  terrestrial  angles  of  this  globe,  am  hither  ar- 
rived, to  peruse  this  little  spot.— CHRISTMAS  ORDINARY. 

THE  AUTHOR. 

WORTHY  READER! 

ON  again  taking  pen  in  hand,  I  would  fain  make  a  few  ob- 
servations at  the  outset,  by  way  of  bespeaking  a  right  under- 
standing. The  volumes  which  I  have  already  published  have 
met  with  a  reception  far  beyond  my  most  sanguine  expectations. 
I  would  willingly  attribute  this  to  their  intrinsic  merits ;  but,  in 
spite  of  the  vanity  of  authorship,  I  cannot  but  be  sensible  that 
then*  success  has,  in  a  great  measure,  been  owing  to  a  less  nat- 
tering cause.  It  has  been  a  matter  of  marvel,  to  my  European 
readers,  that  a  man  from  the  wilds  of  America  should  express 
himself  in  tolerable  English.  I  was  looked  upon  as  something 
new  and  strange  in  literature ;  a  kind  of  demi-savage,  with  a 
feather  in  his  hand,  instead  of  on  his  head ;  and  there  was  a 
curiosity  to  hear  what  such  a  being  had  to  say  about  civilized 
society. 

This  novelty  is  now  at  an  end,  and  of  course  the  feeling  of 
indulgence  which  it  produced.  I  must  now  expect  to  bear  the 
scrutiny  of  sterner  criticism,  and  to  be  measured  by  the  same 


Q  BRACEBEIDGE  HALL. 

standard  with  contemporary,  writers ;  and  the  very  favor  which 
has  beeii  ^xbwn  to.noyip'Hvipus  writings,  will  cause  these  to  be 
treated  with  the  greater'  rigour ;  as  there  is  nothing  for  which 
the  .^o^'fe'apt  to^iiniAAnaap  more  severely,  than  for  having 
been  over-praised.  '  Off  this  hdad,  therefore,  I  wish  to  forestall 
the  censoriousness  of  the  reader;  and  I  entreat  he  will  not 
think  the  worse  of  me  for  the  many  injudicious  things  that  may 
have  been  said  in  my  commendation. 

I  am  aware  that  I  often  travel  over  beaten  ground,  and  treat 
of  subjects  that  have  already  been  discussed  by  abler  pens. 
Indeed,  various  authors  have  been  mentioned  as  my  models,  to 
whom  I  should  feel  nattered  if  I  thought  I  bore  the  slightest 
resemblance;  but  in  truth  I  write  after  no  model  that  I  am 
conscious  of,  and  I  write  with  no  idea  of  imitation  or  competi- 
tion. In  venturing  occasionally  on  topics  that  have  already 
been  almost  exhausted  by  English  authors,  I  do  it,  not  with  the 
presumption  of  challenging  a  comparison,  but  with  the  hope 
that  some  new  interest  may  be  given  to  such  topics,  when  dis- 
cussed by  the  pen  of  a  stranger. 

If,  therefore,  I  should  sometimes  be  found  dwelling  with 
fondness  on  subjects  that  are  trite  and  commonplace  with  the 
reader,  I  beg  that  the  circumstances  under  which  I  write  may 
be  kept  in  recollection.  Having  been  born  and  brought  up  in  a 
new  country,  yet  educated  from  infancy  in  the  literature  of  an 
old  one,  my  mind  was  early  filled  with  historical  and  poetical 
associations,  connected  with  places,  and  manners,  and  customs 
of  Europe ;  but  which  could  rarely  be  applied  to  those  of  my 
own  country.  To  a  mind  thus  peculiarly  prepared,  the  most 
ordinary  objects  and  scenes,  on  arriving  in  Europe,  are  full  of 
strange  matter  and  interesting  novelty.  England  is  as  classic 
ground  to  an  American  as  Italy  is  to  an  Englishman ;  and  old 
London  teems  with  as  much  historical  association  as  mighty 
Rome. 

Indeed,  it  is  difficult  to  describe  the  whimsical  medley  of 
ideas  that  throng  upon  his  mind,  on  landing  among  English 
scenes.  He,  for  the  first  time,  sees  a  world  about  which  he  has 
been  reading  and  thinking  in  every  stage  of  his  existence.  The 
recollected  ideas  of  inf  ancy ,  youth,  and  manhood ;  of  the  nursery, 
the  school,  and  the  study,  come  swarming  at  once  upon  him ; 
and  his  attention  is  distracted  between  great  and  little  objects ; 
each  of  which,  perhaps,  awakens  an  equally  delightful  train  of 
remembrances. 

But  what  more  especially  attracts  his  notice,  are  those  pecu- 


THE  AUTHOR.  7 

liarities  which  distinguish  an  old  country  and  an  old  state  of 
society  from  a  new  one.  I  have  never  yet  grown  familiar 
enough  with  the  crumbling  monuments  of  past  ages,  to  blunt 
the  intense  interest  with  which  I  at  first  beheld  them.  Accus- 
tomed always  to  scenes  where  history  was,  in  a  manner,  in 
anticipation ;  where  every  thing  in  art  was  new  and  progressive, 
and  pointed  to  the  future  rather  than  to  the  past ;  where,  in 
short,  the  works  of  man  gave  no  ideas  but  those  of  young  exis- 
tence, and  prospective  improvement;  there  was  something 
inexpressibly  touching  in  the  sight  of  enormous  piles  of  archi- 
tecture, gray  with  antiquity,  and  sinking  into  decay.  I  cannot 
describe  the  mute  but  deep-felt  enthusiasm  with  which  I  have 
contemplated  a  vast  monastic  ruin,  like  Tintern  Abbey,  buried 
in  the  bosom  of  a  quiet  valley,  and  shut  up  from  the  world,  as 
though  it  had  existed  merely  for  itself ;  or  a  warrior  pile,  like 
Con  way  Castle,  standing  in  stern  loneliness  on  its  rocky  height, 
a  mere  hollow  yet  threatening  phantom  of  departed  power. 
They  spread  a  grand,  and  melancholy,  and,  to  me,  an  unusual 
charm  over  the  landscape ;  I,  for  the  first  time,  beheld  signs  of 
national  old  age,  and  empire's  decay,  and  proofs  of  the  tran- 
sient and  perishing  glories  of  art,  amidst  the  ever-springing  and 
reviving  fertility  of  nature. 

But,  in  fact,  to  me  every  thing  was  full  of  matter ;  the  foot- 
steps of  history  were  every  where  to  be  traced ;  and  poetry  had 
breathed  over  and  sanctified  the  land.  I  experienced  the  de- 
lightful freshness  of  feeling  of  a  child,  to  whom  every  thing  is 
new.  I  pictured  to  myself  a  set  of  inhabitants  and  a  mode  of 
life  for  every  habitation  that  I  saw,  from  the  aristocratical 
mansion,  amidst  the  lordly  repose  of  stately  groves  and  solitary 
parts,  to  the  straw-thatched  cottage,  with  its  scanty  garden 
and  its  cherished  woodbine.  I  thought  I  never  could  be  sated 
with  the  sweetness  and  freshness  of  a  country  so  completely 
carpeted  with  verdure;  where  every  air  breathed  of  the  balmy 
pasture,  and  the  honey-suckled  hedge.  I  was  continually 
coming  upon  some  little  document  of  poetry,  in  the  blossomed 
hawthorn,  the  daisy,  the  cowslip,  the  primrose,  or  some  other 
simple  object  that  has  received  a  supernatural  value  from  the 
muse.  The  first  time  that  I  heard  the  song  of  the  nightingale, 
I  was  intoxicated  more  by  the  delicious  crowd  of  remembered 
associations  than  by  the  melody  of  its  notes ;  and  I  shall  never 
forget  the  thrill  of  ecstasy  with  which  I  first  saw  the  lark  rise, 
almost  from  beneath  my  feet,  and  wing  its  musical  flight  up 
into  the  morning  sky. 


g  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

In  this  way  I  traversed  England,  a  grown-up  child,  delighted 
by  every  object,  great  and  small;  and  betraying  a  wondering 
ignorance,  and  simple  enjoyment,  that  provoked  many  a  stare 
and  a  smile  from  my  wiser  and  more  experienced  fellow-tra- 
vellers. Such  too  was  the  odd  confusion  of  associations  that 
kept  breaking  upon  me,  as  I  first  approached  London.  One  of 
my  earliest  wishes  had  been  to  see  this  great  metropolis.  I  had 
read  so  much  about  it  in  the  earliest  books  that  had  been  put 
into  my  infant  hands;  and  I  had  heard  so  much  about  it  from 
those  around  me  who  had  come  from  the  "  old  countries." 
was  familiar  with  the  names  of  its  streets,  and  squares,  and 
public  places,  before  I  knew  those  of  my  native  city.  It  was, 
to  me,  the  great  centre  of  the  world,  round  which  every  thing 
seemed  to  revolve.  I  recollect  contemplating  so  wistfully,  when 
a  boy,  a  paltry  little  print  of  the  Thames,  and  London  Bridge, 
and  St.  Paul's,  that  was  in  front  of  an  old  magazine;  and  a  pic- 
ture of  Kensington  Gardens,  with  gentlemen  in  three-cornered 
hats  and  broad  skirts,  and  ladies  in  hoops  and  lappets,  that 
hung  up  in  my  bed-room;  even  the  venerable  cut  of  St. 
John's  Gate,  that  has  stood,  tune  out  of  mind,  in  front  of  the 
Gentleman's  Magazine,  was  not  without  its  charms  to  me ;  and 
I  envied  the  odd-looking  little  men  that  appeared  to  be  loitering 
about  its  arches. 

How  then  did  my  heart  warm  when  the  towers  of  West- 
minster Abbey  were  pointed  out  to  me,  rising  above  the  rich 
groves  of  St.  James's  Park,  with  a  thin  blue  haze  about  their 
gray  pinnacles  1  I  could  not  behold  this  great  mausoleum  of 
what  is  most  illustrious  in  our  paternal  history,  without  feeling 
my  enthusiasm  in  a  glow.  With  what  eagerness  did  I  explore 
every  part  of  the  metropolis !  I  was  not  content  with  those 
matters  which  occupy  the  dignified  research  of  the  learned 
traveller ;  I  delighted  to  call  up  all  the  f  eelings  of  childhood,  and 
to  seek  after  those  objects  which  had  been  the  wonders  of  my 
infancy.  London  Bridge,  so  famous  in  nursery  songs ;  the  far- 
famed  Monument ;  Gog  and  Magog,  and  the  Lions  in  the  Tower, 
all  brought  back  many  a  recollection  of  infantile  delight,  and 
of  good  old  beings,  now  no  more,  who  had  gossiped  about 
them  to  my  wondering  ear.  Nor  was  it  without  a  recurrence  of 
childish  interest,  that  I  first  peeped  into  Mr.  Newberry's  shop, 
in  St.  Paul's  Church-yard,  that  fountain-head  of  literature. 
Mr.  Newberry  was  the  first  that  ever  filled  my  infant  mind 
with  the  idea  of  a  great  and  good  man.  He  published  all  the 
picture-books  of  the  day;  and,  out  of  his  abundant  love  for 


THE  AUTHOR.  9 

children,  he  charged  "nothing  for  either  paper  or  print,  and 
only  a  penny-halfpenny  for  the  binding  1" 

I  have  mentioned  these  circumstances,  worthy  reader,  to 
show  you  the  whimsical  crowd  of  associations  that  are  apt  to 
beset  my  mind  on  mingling  among  English  scenes.  I  hope  they 
may,  in  some  measure,  plead  my  apology,  should  I  be  found 
harping  upon  stale  and  trivial  themes,  or  indulging  an  over- 
fondness  for  any  thing  antique  and  obsolete.  I  know  it  is  the, 
humour,  not  to  say  cant  of  the  day,  to  run  riot  about  old  times, 
old  books,  old  customs,  and  old  buildings;  with  myself,  how- 
ever, as  far  as  I  have  caught  the  contagion,  the  feeling  is 
genuine.  To  a  man  from  a  young  country,  all  old  things  are 
in  a  manner  new ;  and  he  may  surely  be  excused  in  being  a 
little  curious  about  antiquities,  whose  native  land,  unfortun- 
ately, cannot  boast  of  a  single  ruin. 

Having  been  brought  up,  also,  in  the  comparative  simplicity 
of  a  republic,  I  am  apt  to  be  struck  with  even  the  ordinary 
circumstances  incident  to  an  aristocratical  state  of  society. 
If,  however,  I  should  at  any  time  amuse  myself  by  pointing 
out  some  of  the  eccentricities,  and  some  of  the  poetical  charac- 
teristics of  the  latter,  I  would  not  be  understood  as  pretending 
to  decide  upon  its  political  merits.  My  only  aim  is  to  paint 
characters  and  manners.  I  am  no  politician.  The  more  I  have 
considered  the  study  of  politics,  the  more  I  have  found  it  full 
of  perplexity ;  and  I  have  contented  myself,  as  I  have  in  my 
religion,  with  the  faith  in  which  I  was  brought  up,  regulating 
my  own  conduct  by  its  precepts ;  but  leaving  to  abler  heads 
the  task  of  making  converts. 

I  shall  continue  on,  therefore,  in  the  course  I  have  hitherto 
pursued ;  looking  at  things  poetically,  rather  than  politically ; 
describing  them  as  they  are,  rather  than  pretending  to  point 
out  how  they  should  be ;  and  endeavouring  to  see  the  world  in 
as  pleasant  a  light  as  circumstances  will  permit. 

I  have  always  had  an  opinion  that  much  good  might  be  done 
by  keeping  mankind  in  good-humour  with  one  another.  I  may 
be  wrong  in  my  philosophy,  but  I  shall  continue  to  practise  it 
until  convinced  of  its  fallacy.  When  I  discover  the  world  to 
be  all  that  it  has  been  represented  by  sneering  cynics  and 
whining  poets,  I  will  turn  to  and  abuse  it  also;  in  the  mean- 
while, worthy  reader,  I  hope  you  will  not  think  lightly  of  me, 
because  I  cannot  believe  this  to  be  so  very  bad  a  world  as  it  is 
represented. 

Thine  truly.  GEOFFREY  CRAYON. 


10  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL 


THE  HALL. 

The  ancient  house,  and  the  best  for  housekeeping  In  this  county  or  the  next;  «nd 
though  the  master  of  it  write  but  squire,  I  know  no  lord  like  him.—  Mei-ry  Beggars. 

THE  reader,  if  he  has  perused  the  volumes  of  the  Sketch- 
Book,  will  probably  recollect  something  of  the  Bracebrid^o 
family,  with  which  I  once  passed  a  Christmas.  I  am  now  on 
another  visit  to  the  Hall,  having  been  invited  to  a  wedding 
which  is  shortly  to  take  place.  The  Squire's  second  son,  Guy, 
a  fine,  spirited  young  captain  in  the  army,  is  about  to  be  mar- 
ried to  his  father's  ward,  the  fair  Julia  Templeton.  A  gather- 
ing of  relations  and  friends  has  already  commenced,  to  celebrate 
the  joyful  occasion;  for  the  old  gentleman  is  an  enemy  to  quiet, 
private  weddings.  "  There  is  nothing,"  he  says,  "  like  launch- 
ing a  young  couple  gayly,  and  cheering  them  from  the  shore; 
a  good  outset  is  half  the  voyage." 

Before  proceeding  any  farther,  I  would  beg  that  the  Squire 
might  not  be  confounded  with  that  class  of  hard-riding,  fox- 
hunting gentlemen  so  often  described,  and,  in  fact,  so  nearly 
extinct  in  England.  I  use  this  rural  title  partly  because  it  is 
his  universal  appellation  throughout  the  neighbourhood,  and 
partly  because  it  saves  me  the  frequent  repetition  of  his  name, 
which  is  one  of  those  rough  old  English  names  at  which 
Frenchmen  exclaim  in  despair. 

The  Squire  is,  in  fact,  a  lingering  specimen  of  the  old  English 
country  gentleman;  rusticated  a  little  by  living  almost  entirely 
on  his  estate,  and  something  of  a  humouiist,  as  Englishmen  are 
apt  to  become  when  they  have  an  opportunity  of  living  in  their 
own  way.  I  like  his  hobby  passing  well,  however,  which  is,  a 
bigoted  devotion  to  old  English  manners  and  customs;  it  jumps 
a  little  with  my  own  humor,  having  as  yet  a  lively  and  unsntod 
curiosity  about  the  ancient  and  genuine  characteristics  of  my 
"fatherland." 

There  are  some  traits  about  the  Squire's  family,  also,  which 
appear  to  me  to  be  national.  It  is  one  of  those  old  aristocrati- 
cal  families,  which,  I  believe,  are  peculiar  to  England,  and 
scarcely  understood  in  other  countries ;  that  is  to  say,  families 
of  the  ancient  gentry,  who,  though  destitute  of  titled  rank, 
maintain  a  high  ancestral  pride;  who  look  down  upon  all 
nobility  of  recent  creation,  and  would  consider  it  a  sacrifice  of 


THE  HALL.  \\ 

dignity  to  merge  the  venerable  name  of  their  house  in  a 
modern  title. 

This  feeling  is  very  much  fostered  by  the  importance  which 
they  enjoy  on  their  hereditary  domains.  The  family  mansion 
is  an  old  manor-house,  standing  in  a  retired  and  beautiful  part 
of  Yorkshire.  Its  inhabitants  have  been  always  regarded, 
through  the  surrounding  country,  as  ' '  the  great  ones  of  the 
earth;"  and  the  little  village  near  the  Hall  looks  up  to  the 
Squire  with  almost  feudal  homage.  An  old  manor-house,  and 
an  old  family  of  this  kind,  are  rarely  to  be  met  with  at  the 
present  day;  and  it  is  probably  the  peculiar  humour  of  the 
Squire  that  has  retained  this  secluded  specimen  of  English 
housekeeping  in  something  like  the  genuine  old  style. 

I  am  again  quartered  in  the  panelled  chamber,  in  the  antique 
wing  of  the  house.  The  prospect  from  the  window,  however, 
has  quite  a  different  aspect  from  that  which  it  wore  on  my 
winter  visit.  Though  early  in  the  month  of  April,  yet  a  few 
warm,  sunshiny  days  have  drawn  forth  the  beauties  of  the 
spring,  which,  I  think,  are  always  most  captivating  on  their 
first  opening.  The  parterres  of  the  old-fashioned  garden  are 
gay  with  flowers;  and  the  gardener  has  brought  out  his  exotics, 
and  placed  them  along  the  stone  balustrades.  The  trees  are 
clothed  with  green  buds  and  tender  leaves.  When  I  throw 
open  my  jingling  casement,  I  smell  the  odour  of  mignonette, 
aii<l  hear  the  hum  of  the  bees  from  the  flowers  against  the 
sunny  wall,  with  the  varied  song  of  the  throstle,  and  the  cheer- 
ful notes  of  the  tuneful  little  wren. 

While  sojourning  in  this  strong-hold  of  old  fashions,  it  is  my 
intention  to  make  occasional  sketches  of  the  scenes  and  charac- 
ters before  me.  I  would  have  it  understood,  however,  that  I 
am  not  writing  a  novel,  and  have  nothing  of  intricate  plot,  or 
marvellous  adventure,  to  promise  the  reader.  The  Hall  of 
which  I  treat,  has,  for  aught  I  know,  neither  trap-door,  nor 
slicling-panel,  nor  donjon-keep ;  and  indeed  appears  to  have  no 
mystery  about  it.  The  family  is  a  worthy,  well-meaning 
family,  that,  in  all  probability,  will  eat  and  drink,  and  go  to 
bed,  and  get  up  regularly,  from  one  end  of  my  work  to  the 
other ;  and  the  Squire  is  so  kind-hearted  an  old  gentleman,  that 
I  see  no  likelihood  of  his  throwing  any  kind  of  distress  in  the 
way  of  the  approaching  nuptials.  In  a  word,  I  cannot  fore- 
see a  single  extraordinary  event  that  is  likely  to  occur  in  the 
ivhole  term  of  my  sojourn  at  the  Hall. 

I  tell  this  honestly  to  the  reader,  lest,  when  he  finds  me 


12  BRACEBRIDQE  HALL. 

dallying  along,  through  every-day  English  scenes,  he  may 
hurry  ahead,  in  hopes  of  meeting  with  some  marvellous  adven- 
ture further  on.  I  invite  him,  on  the  contrary,  to  ramble 
gently  on  with  me,  as  he  would  saunter  out  into  the  fields, 
stopping  occasionally  to  gather  a  flower,  or  listen  to  a  bird,  or 
admire  a  prospect,  without  any  anxiety  to  arrive  at  the  end  of 
his  career.  Should  I,  however,  in  the  course  of  my  loiterings 
about  this  old  mansion,  see  or  hear  anything  curious,  that 
might  serve  to  vary  the  monotony  of  this  every-day  life,  I 
BhaJl  not  fail  to  report  it  for  the  reader's  entertainment: 

For  freshest  wits  I  know  will  soon  be  wearie 

Of  any  book,  how  grave  so  e'er  it  be, 
Except  it  have  odd  matter,  strange  and  merrie, 

Well  sauc'd  with  lies  and  glared  all  with  glee.* 


THE  BUSY  MAN. 

A  decayed  gentleman,  who  lives  most  upon  his  own  mirth  and  my  master's 
raeaus,  and  much  good  do  him  with  it.  lie  does  hold  my  master  up  with  his 
stories,  and  songs,  and  catches,  and  such  tricks  arid  jigs,  you  would  admire— he  U 
with  him  now.— Jovial  Crew. 

BY  no  one  has  my  return  to  the  Hall  been  more  heartily 
greeted  than  by  Mr.  Simon  Bracebridge,  or  Master  Simon,  as 
the  Squire  most  commonly  calls  him.  I  encountered  him  just 
as  I  entered  the  park,  where  he  was  breaking  a  pointer,  and  he 
received  me  with  all  the  hospitable  cordiality  with  which  a 
man  welcomes  a  friend  to  another  one's  house.  I  have  already 
introduced  him  to  the  reader  as  a  brisk  old  bachelor-looking 
little  man ;  the  wit  and  superannuated  beau  of  a  large  family 
connection,  and  the  Squire's  factotum.  I  found  him,  as  usual, 
full  of  bustle ;  with  a  thousand  petty  things  to  do,  and  persona 
to  attend  to,  and  in  chirping  good-humour;  for  there  are  few 
happier  beings  than  a  busy  idler;  that  is  to  say,  a  man  who  is 
eternally  busy  about  nothing. 

I  visited  him,  the  morning  after  my  arrival,  in  his  chamber, 
which  is  in  a  remote  corner  of  the  mansion,  as'  he  says  he  likes 
to  be  to  himself,  and  out  of  the  way.  He  has  fitted  it  up  in  his 
own  taste,  so  that  it  is  a  perfect  epitome  of  an  old  bachelor's 

notions  of  convenience  and  arrangement.      The  furniture  is 

»<  i  — _ 

*  Mirror  for  Magistrate* 


THE  BUSY  MAN.  13 

made  up  of  odd  pieces  from  all  parts  of  the  house,  chosen  on 
account  of  their  suiting  his  notions,  or  fitting  some  corner  of 
his  apartment ;  and  he  is  very  eloquent  in  praise  of  an  ancient 
elbow-chair,  from  which  he  takes  occasion  to  digress  into  a 
censure  on  modern  chairs,  as  having  degenerated  from  the 
dignity  and  comfort  of  high-backed  antiquity. 

Adjoining  to  his  room  is  a  small  cabinet,  which  he  calls  his 
study,,  Here  are  some  hanging  shelves,  of  his  own  construc- 
tion, on  which  are  several  old  works  on  hawking,  hunting,  and 
farriery,  and  a  collection  or  two  of  poems  and  songs  of  the 
reign  of  Elizabeth,  which  he  studies  out  of  compliment  to  the 
Squire;  together  with  the  Novelist's  Magazine,  the  Sporting 
Magazine,  the  Eacing  Calendar,  a  volume  or  two  of  the  New- 
gate Calendar,  a  book  of  peerage,  and  another  of  heraldry. 

His  sporting  dresses  hang  on  pegs  in  a  small  closet;  and 
about  the  walls  of  his  apartment  are  hooks  to  hold  his  fishing- 
tackle,  whips,  spurs,  and  a  favourite  fowling-piece,  curiously 
wrought  and  inlaid,  which  he  inherits  from  his  grandfather. 
He  has,  also,  a  couple  of  old  single-keyed  flutes,  and  a  fiddle 
which  he  has  repeatedly  patched  and  mended  himself,  affirming 
it  to  be  a  veritable  Cremona,  though  I  have  never  heard  him 
extract  a  single  note  from  it  that  was  not  enough  to  make  one's 
blood  run  cold. 

From  this  little  nest  his  fiddle  will  often  be  heard,  in  the 
stillness  of  mid-day,  drowsily  sawing  some  long-forgotten  tune; 
for  he  prides  himself  on  having  a  choice  collection  of  good  old 
English  music,  and  will  scarcely  have  any  thing  to  do  with 
modern  composers.  The  time,  however,  at  which  his  musical 
powers  are  of  most  use,  is  now  and  then  of  an  evening,  when 
he  plays  for  the  children  to  dance  in  the  hall,  and  he  passes 
among  them  and  the  servants  for  a  perfect  Orpheus. 

His  chamber  also  bears  evidence  of  his  various  avocations: 
there  are  half -copied  sheets  of  music ;  designs  for  needle-work ; 
sketches  of  landscapes,  very  indifferently  executed ;  a  camera 
lucida ;  a  magic  lantern,  for  which  he  is  endeavoring  to  paint 
glasses ;  in  a  word,  it  is  the  cabinet  of  a  man  of  many  accom- 
plishments, who  knows  a  little  of  every  thing,  and  does  nothing 
well. 

After  I  had  spent  some  time  in  his  apartment,  admiring  the 
ingenuity  of  his  small  inventions,  he  took  me  about  the  estab- 
lishment, to  visit  the  stables,  dog-kennel,  and  other  dependen- 
cies, in  which  he  appeared  like  a  general  visiting  the  different 
quarters  of  his  camp ;  as  the  Squire  leaves  the  control  of  all 


14  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

these  matters  to  him,  when  he  is  at  the  Hall.  He  inquired 
into  the  state  of  the  horses;  examined  their  feet;  prescribed  a 
drench  for  one,  and  bleeding  for  another;  and  then  took  me  to 
look  at  his  own  horse,  on  the  merits  of  which  he  dwelt  with 
great  prolixity,  and  which,  I  noticed,  had  the  best  stall  in  tho 
stable. 

\  After  this  I  was  taken  to  a  new  toy  of  his  and  the  Squire's, 
'which  he  termed  the  falconry,  where  there  were  several  un- 
happy birds  in  durance,  completing  their  education.  Among 
the  number  was  a  fine  falcon,  which  Master  Simon  had  in 
especial  training,  and  he  told  me  that  he  would  show  me,  in  a 
few  days,  some  rare  sport  of  the  good  old-fashioned  kind.  In 
the  course  of  our  round,  I  noticed  that  the  grooms,  game-keep- 
er, whippers-in,  and  other  retainers,  seemed  all  to  be  on  some- 
what of  a  familiar  footing  with  Master  Simon,  and  fond  of 
having  a  joke  with  him,  though  it  was  evident  they  had  great 
deference  for  his  opinion  in  matters  relating  to  their  functions. 

There  was  one  exception,  however,  in  a  testy  old  huntsman, 
as  hot  as  a  pepper-corn ;  a  meagre,  wiry  old  fellow,  in  a  thread- 
bare velvet  jockey  cap,  and  a  pair  of  leather  breeches,  that, 
from  much  wear,  shone,  as  though  they  had  been  japanned. 
He  was  very  contradictory  and  pragmatical,  and  apt,  as  I 
thought,  to  differ  from  Master  Simon  now  and  then,  out  of 
mere  captiousness.  This  was  particularly  the  case  with  respect 
to  the  treatment  of  the  hawk,  which  the  old  man  seemed  to 
have  under  his  peculiar  care,  and,  according  to  Master  Simon, 
was  in  a  fair  way  to  ruin :  the  latter  had  a  vast  deal  to  say 
about  casting,  and  imping,  and  gleaming,  and  enseaming,  and 
giving  the  hawk  the  rangle,  which  I  saw  was  all  heathen 
Greek  to  old  Christy;  but  he  maintained  his  point  notwith- 
standing, and  seemed  to  hold  all  this  technical  lore  in  utter 
disrespect. 

I  was  surprised  with  the  good-humour  with  which  Master 
Simon  bore  his  contradictions,  till  he  explained  the  matter  to 
me  afterwards.  Old  Christy  is  the  most  ancient  servant  in  the 
place,  having  lived  among  dogs  and  horses  the  greater  part  of 
a  century,  and  been  in  the  service  of  Mr.  Bracebridge's  father. 
He  knows  the  pedigree  of  every  horse  on  the  place,  and  has 
bestrode  the  great-great-grand  sires  of  most  of  them.  He  can 
give  a  circumstantial  detail  of  every  fox-hunt  for  the  last  sixty 
or  seventy  years,  and  has  a  history  for  every  stag's  head  about 
the  house,  and  every  hunting  trophy  nailed  to  the  door  of  the 
dog-kennel. 


THE  BUST  MAN.  15 

All  the  present  race  have  grown  up  under  his  eye,  and  humour 
him  in  his  old  age.  He  once  attended  the  Squire  to  Oxford., 
when  he  was  a  student  there,  and  enlightened  the  whole  univer- 
sity with  his  hunting  lore.  All  this  is  enough  to  make  the  old- 
man  opinionated,  since  he  finds,  on  all  these  matters  of  first- 
rate  importance,  he  knows  more  than  the  rest  of  the  world. 
Indeed,  Master  Simon  had  been  his  pupil,  and  acknowledges 
that  he  derived  his  first  knowledge  in  hunting  from  the  in- 
structions of  Christy;  and  I  much  question  whether  the  old 
man  does  not  still  look  upon  him  rather  as  a  greenhorn. 

On  our  return  homewards,  as  we  were  crossing  the  lawn  in 
front  of  the  house,  we  heard  the  porter's  bell  ring  at  the  lodge, 
and  shortly  afterwards,  a  kind  of  cavalcade  advanced  slowly 
up  the  avenue.  At  sight  of  it  my  companion  paused,  consid- 
ered it  for  a  moment,  and  then,  making  a  sudden  exclamation, 
hurried  away  to  meet  it.  As  it  approached,  I  discovered  a  fair, 
fresh-looking  elderly  lady,  dressed  in  an  old-fashioned  riding- 
habit,  with  a  broad-brimmed  white  beaver  hat,  such  as  may  be 
seen  in  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds'  paintings.  She  rode  a  sleek  white 
pony,  and  was  followed  by  a  footman  in  rich  livery,  mounted 
on  an  over-fed  hunter.  At  a  little  distance  in  the  rear  came  an 
ancient  cumbrous  chariot,  drawn  by  two  very  corpulent  horses, 
driven  by  as  corpulent  a  coachman,  beside  whom  sat  a  page 
dressed  in  a  fanciful  green  livery.  Inside  of  the  chariot  was  a 
starched  prim  personage,  with  a  look  somewhat  between  a 
lady's  companion  and  a  lady's  maid ;  and  two  pampered  curs, 
that  showed  their  ugly  faces,  and  barked  out  of  each  window. 

There  was  a  general  turning  out  of  the  garrison,  to  receive 
this  new  comer.  The  Squire  assisted  her  to  alight,  and  saluted 
her  affectionately ;  the  fair  Julia  flew  into  her  arms,  and  they 
embraced  with  the  romantic  fervour  of  boarding-school  friends : 
she  was  escorted  into  the  house  by  Julia's  lover,  towards  whom 
she  showed  distinguished  favour ;  and  a  line  of  the  old  servants, 
who  had  collected  in  the  Hall,  bowed  most  profoundly  as  she 
passed. 

I  observed  that  Master  Simon  was  most  assiduous  and  devout 
in  his  attentions  upon  this  old  lady.  He  walked  by  the  side  of  her 
pony,  up  the  avenue ;  and,  while  she  was  receiving  the  saluta- 
tions of  the  rest  of  the  family,  he  took  occasion  to  notice  the  fat 
coachman ;  to  pat  the  sleek  carriage  horses,  and,  above  all,  to 
say  a  civil  word  to  my  lady's  gentlewoman,  the  prim,  sour- 
looking  vestal  in  the  chariot. 

I  had  no  more  of  his  company  for  the  rest  of  the  morning. 


jg  BEACEBRIDGE  HALL, 

He  was  swept  off  in  the  vortex  that  followed  in  the  wake  of 
this  lady.  Once  indeed  he  paused  for  a  moment,  as  he  was 
hurrying  on  some  errand  of  the  good  lady's,  to  let  me  know 
that  this  was  Lady  Lillycraft,  a  sister  of  the  Squire's,  of  large 
fortune,  which  the  captain  would  inherit,  and  that  her  estate 
lay  in  one  of  the  best  sporting  counties  in  all  England. 


FAMILY  SERVANTS. 

Verily  old  servants  are  the  vouchers  of  worthy  housekeeping.  They  are  like  rats 
tn  a  mansion,  or  mites  in  a  cheese,  bespeaking  the  antiquity  and  fatness  of  their 
.tbode. 

IN  my  casual  anecdotes  of  the  Hall,  I  may  often  be  tempted 
to  dwell  on  circumstances  of  a  trite  and  ordinary  nature,  from 
their  appearing  to  me  illustrative  of  genuine  national  character. 
It  seems  to  be  the  study  of  the  Squire  to  adhere,  as  much  as 
possible,  to  what  he  considers  the  old  landmarks  of  English 
manners.  His  servants  all  understand  his  ways,  and  for  the 
most  part  have  been  accustomed  to  them  from  infancy;  so 
that,  upon  the  whole,  his  household  presents  one  of  the  few 
tolerable  specimens  that  can  now  be  met  with,  of  the  establish- 
ment of  an  English  country  gentleman  of  the  old  school. 

By  the  by,  the  servants  are  not  the  least  characteristic  part 
of  the  household :  the  housekeeper,  for  instance,  has  been  born 
and  brought  up  at  the  Hall,  and  has  never  been  twenty  miles 
from  it ;  yet  she  has  a  stately  air,  that  would  not  disgrace  a 
lady  that  had  figured  at  the  court  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 

I  am  half  inclined  to  think  that  she  has  caught  it  from  living 
BO  much  among  the  old  family  pictures.  It  may,  however,  be 
owing  to  a  consciousness  of  her  importance  in  the  sphere  in 
which  she  has  always  moved ;  for  she  is  greatly  respected  in 
the  neighbouring  village,  and  among  the  farmers'  wives,  and 
has  high  authority  in  the  household,  ruling  over  the  servants 
with  quiet,  but  undisputed  sway. 

She  is  a  thin  old  lady,  with  blue  eyes  and  pointed  nose  and 
chin.  Her  dress  is  always  the  same  as  to  fashion.  She  wears 
a  small,  well-starched  ruff,  a  laced  stomacher,  full  petticoats, 
and  a  gown  festooned  and  open  in  front,  which,  on  particular 
occasions,  is  of  ancient  silk,  the  legacy  of  some  former  dame  of 
the  family,  or  an  inheritance  from  her  mother,  who  was  house- 


FAMILY  SERVANTS.  17 

keeper  before  her.  I  have  a  reverence  for  these  old  garments, 
as  I  make  no  doubt  they  have  figured  about  these  apartments 
in  days  long  past,  when  they  have  set  off  the  charms  of  some 
peerless  family  beauty ;  and  I  have  sometimes  looked  from  the 
old  housekeeper  to  the  neighbouring  portraits,  to  see  whether  I 
could  not  recognize  her  antiquated  brocade  in  the  dress  of 
someone  of  those  long-waisted  dames  that  smile  on  me  from 
the  walls. 

Her  hair,  which  is  quite  white,  is  frizzed  out  in  front,  and 
she  wears  over  it  a  small  cap,  nicely  plaited,  and  brought  down 
under  the  chin.  Her  manners  are  simple  and  primitive,  height- 
ened a  little  by  a  proper  dignity  of  station. 

The  Hall  is  her  world,  and  the  history  of  the  family  the  only 
history  she  knows,  excepting  that  which  she  has  read  in  the 
Bible.  She  can  give  a  biography  of  every  portrait  in  the  pic- 
ture gallery,  and  is  a  complete  family  chronicle. 

She  is  treated  with  great  consideration  by  the  Squire.  In- 
deed, Master  Simon  tells  me  that  there  is  a  traditional  anecdote 
current  among  the  servants,  of  the  Squire's  having  been  seen 
kissing  her  in  the  picture  gallery,  when  they  were  both  young. 
As,  however,  nothing  further  was  ever  noticed  between  them, 
the  circumstance  caused  no  great  scandal;  only  she  was  ob- 
served to  take  to  reading  Pamela  shortly  afterwards,  and 
refused  the  hand  of  the  village  inn-keeper,  whom  she  had  pre- 
viously smiled  on. 

The  old  butler,  who  was  formerly  footman,  and  a  rejected 
admirer  of  hers,  used  to  tell  the  anecdote  now  and  then,  at  those 
little  cabals  that  will  occasionally  take  place  among  the  most 
orderly  servants,  arising  from  the  common  propensity  of  the 
governed  to  talk  against  administration ;  but  he  has  left  it  off, 
of  late  years,  since  he  has  risen  into  place,  and  shakes  his  head 
rebukingly  when  it  is  mentioned. 

It  is  certain  that  the  old  lady  will,  to  this  day,  dwell  on  the 
looks  of  the  Squire  when  he  was  a  young  man  at  college ;  and 
she  maintains  that  none  of  his  sons  can  compare  with  their 
father  when  he  was  of  their  age,  and  was  dressed  out  in  his 
full  suit  of  scarlet,  with  his  hair  craped  and  powdered,  and  his 
three-cornered  hat. 

She  has  an  orphan  niece,  a  pretty,  soft-hearted  baggage, 
named  Phoebe  Wilkins,  who  has  been  transplanted  to  the  Hall 
within  a  year  or  two,  and  been  nearly  spoiled  for  any  condition 
of  life.  She  is  a  kind  of  attendant  and  companion  of  the  fair 
Julia's;  and  from  loitering  about  the  young  lady's  apartments, 


-lrf  BRACEBR1DQE  HALL. 

reading  scraps  of  novels,  and  inheriting  second-hand  finery, 
has  become  something  between  a  waiting-maid  and  a  slipshod 

fine  lady. 

She  is  considered  a  kind  of  heiress  among  the  servants,  as 
she  will  inherit  all  her  aunt's  property ;  which,  if  report  be  true, 
must  be  a  round  sum  of  good  golden  guineas,  the  accumulated 
wealth  of  two  housekeepers'  savings ;  not  to  mention  the  heredi- 
tary wardrobe,  and  the  many  little  valuables  and  knick-knacks, 
treasured  up  in  the  housekeepers'  room.  Indeed,  the  old 
housekeeper  has  the  reputation,  among  the  servants  and  the 
villagers,  of  being  passing  rich ;  and  there  is  a  japanned  chest 
of  drawers,  and  a  large  iron-bound  coffer  in  her  room,  which 
are  supposed,  by  the  house-maids,  to  hold  treasures  of  wealth. 

The  old  lady  is  a  great  friend  of  Master  Simon,  who,  indeed, 
pays  a  little  court  to  her,  as  to  a  person  high  in  authority ;  and 
they  have  many  discussions  on  points  of  family  history,  in 
which,  notwithstanding  his  extensive  information,  and  pride  of 
knowledge,  he  commonly  admits  her  superior  accuracy.  He 
seldom  returns  to  the  Hall,  after  one  of  his  visits  to  the  other 
branches  of  the  family,  without  bringing  Mrs.  Wilkins  some 
remembrance  from  the  ladies  of  the  house  where  he  has  been 
staying. 

Indeed,  all  the  children  of  the  house  look  up  to  the  old  lady 
with  habitual  respect  and  attachment,  and  she  seems  almost  to 
consider  them  as  her  own,  from  their  having  grown  up  under 
her  eye.  The  Oxonian,  however,  is  her  favourite,  probably  from 
being  the  youngest,  though  he  is  the  most  mischievous,  and  has 
been  apt  to  play  tricks  upon  her  from  boyhood. 

I  cannot  help  mentioning  one  little  ceremony,  which,  I  be- 
lieve, is  peculiar  to  the  Hall.  After  the  cloth  is  removed  at 
dinner,  the  old  housekeeper  sails  into  the  room  and  stands  be- 
hind the  Squire's  chair,  when  he  fills  her  a  glass  of  wine  with 
his  own  hands,  in  which  she  drinks  the  health  of  the  company 
in  a  truly  respectful  yet  dignified  manner,  and  then  retires. 
The  Squire  received  the  custom  from  his  father,  and  has  always 
continued  it. 

There  is  a  peculiar  character  about  the  servants  of  old  Eng- 
lish families  that  reside  principally  in  the  country.  They  have 
a  quiet,  orderly,  respectful  mode  of  doing  their  duties.  They 
are  always  neat  in  their  persons,  and  appropriately,  and  if  I 
may  use  the  phrase,  technically  dressed;  they  move  about  the 
house  without  hurry  or  noise;  there  is  nothing  of  the  bustle  of 
employment,  or  the  voice  of  command ;  nothing  of  that  obtrusive 


FAMILY  SERVANTS.  19 

housewifery  that  amounts  to  a  torment.  You  are  not  persecu- 
ted by  the  process  of  making  you  comfortable ;  yet  every  thing 
is  done,  and  is  done  well.  The  work  of  the  house  is  performed 
as  if  by  magic,  but  it  is  the  magic  of  system.  Nothing  is  done 
by  fits  and  starts,  nor  at  awkward  seasons ;  the  whole  goes  on 
like  well-oiled  clock-work,  where  there  is  no  noise  nor  jarring 
in  its  operations. 

English  servants,  in  general,  are  not  treated  with  great  in- 
dulgence, nor  rewarded  by  many  commendations;  for  the 
English  are  laconic  and  reserved  toward  their  domestics ;  but 
an  approving  nod  and  a  kind  word  from  master  or  mistress, 
goes  as  far  here,  as  an  excess  of  praise  or  indulgence  elsewhere. 
Neither  do  servants  often  exhibit  any  animated  marks  of  affec- 
tion to  their  employers ;  yet,  though  quiet,  they  are  strong  in 
their  attachments;  and  the  reciprocal  regard  of  masters  and 
servants,  though  not  ardently  expressed,  is  powerful  and  last- 
ing in  old  English  families. 

The  title  of  "  an  old  family  servant"  carries  with  it  a  thousand 
kind  associations,  in  all  parts  of  the  world;  and  there  is  no 
claim  upon  the  home-bred  charities  of  the  heart  more  irresisti- 
ble than  that  of  having  been  "born  in  the  house."  It  is  com- 
mon to  see  gray-headed  domestics  of  this  kind  attached  to  an 
English  family  of  the  "  old  school,"  who  continue  in  it  to  the 
day  of  their  death,  in  the  enjoyment  of  steady,  unaffected 
kindness,  and  the  performance  of  faithful,  unofficious  duty.  I 
think  such  instances  of  attachment  speak  well  for  both  master 
and  servant,  and  the  frequency  of  them  speaks  well  for  national 
character. 

These  observations,  however,  hold  good  only  with  families  of 
the  description  I  have  mentioned ;  and  with  such  as  are  some- 
what retired,  and  pass  the  greater  part  of  their  time  in  the 
country.  As  to  the  powdered  menials  that  throng  the  halls 
of  fashionable  town  residences,  they  equally  reflect  the  charac- 
ter of  the  establishments  to  which  they  belong ;  and  I  know  no 
more  complete  epitomes  of  dissolute  heartlessness  and  pam- 
pered inutility. 

,  But,  the  good  "old  family  servant !" — the  one  wljfc  has  always 
been  linked,  in  idea,  with  the  home  of  our  heart ;  who  has  led 
us  to  school  in  the  days  of  prattling  childhood ;  who  has  been 
the  confidant  of  our  boyish  cares,  and  schemes,  and  enterprises ; 
who  has  hailed  us  as  we  came  home  at  vacations,  and  been  the 
promoter  of  all  our  holiday  sports ;  who,  when  we,  in  wander- 
ing manhood,  have  left  the  paternal  roof,  and  only  return 


20  BRACEKRIDGE  HALL. 

thither  at  intervals— will  welcome  us  with  a  joy  inferior  only  to 
that  of  our  parents ;  who,  now  grown  gray  and  infirm  with  age, 
still  totters  about  the  house  of  our  fathers,  in  fond  and  faithful 
servitude ;  who  claims  us,  in  a  manner,  as  his  own ;  and  hastens 
with  querulous  eagerness  to  anticipate  his  fellow-domestics  in 
waiting  upon  us  at  table;  and  who,  when  we  retire  at  night  to 
the  chamber  that  still  goes  by  our  name,  will  linger  about  the 
room  to  have  one  more  kind  look,  and  one  more  pleasant  word 
about  times  that  are  past— who  does  not  experience  towards 
such  a  being  a  feeling  of  almost  filial  affection? 

I  have  met  with  several  instances  of  epitaphs  on  the  grave- 
stones of  such  valuable  domestics,  recorded  with  the  sim- 
ple truth  of  natural  feeling.  I  have  two  before  me  at  this 
moment;  one  copied  from  a  tombstone  of  a  church-yard  in 
"Warwickshire : 

"Here  lieth  the  body  of  Joseph  Batte,  confidential  servant  to 
George  Birch,  Esq.,  of  Hamstead  Hall.  His  grateful  friend 
and  master  caused  this  inscription  to  be  written  in  memory  of 
his  discretion,  fidelity,  diligence,  and  continence.  He  died  (a 
bachelor)  aged  84,  having  lived  44  years  in  the  same  family. " 

The  other  was  taken  from  a  tombstone  in  Eltham  church- 
yard: 

"Here  lie  the  remains  of  Mr.  James  Tappy,  who  departed 
this  life  on  the  8th  of  September,  1818,  aged  84,  after  a  faithful 
service  of  60  years  in  one  family;  by  each  individual  of  which 
he  lived  respected,  and  died  lamented  by  the  sole  survivor." 

Few  monuments,  even  of  the  illustrious,  have  given  me  the 
glow  about  the  heart  that  I  felt  while  copying  this  honest  epi- 
taph in  the  church-yard  of  Eltham.  I  sympathized  with  this 
"sole  survivor"  of  a  family  mourning  over  the  grave  of  the 
faithful  follower  of  his  race,  who  had  been,  no  doubt,  a  living 
memento  of  times  and  friends  that  had  passed  away ;  and  in 
considering  this  record  of  long  and  devoted  service,  I  called  ta 
mind  the  touching  speech  of  Old  Adam,  in  "As  You  Like  It," 
when  tottering  after  the  youthful  son  of  his  ancient  master: 

"  Master,  go  on,  and  I  will  follow  thee 
To  the  last  gasp,  with  love  and  loyalty  1" 

NOTE.— I  cannot  but  mention  a  tablet  which  I  have  seen  somewhere  in  the  chape* 
of  Windsor  Castle,  put  up  by  the  late  king  to  the  memory  of  a  family  servant,  who 
had  been  a  faithful  attendant  of  his  lamented  daughter,  the  Princess  Amelia. 
George  m.  possessed  much  of  the  strong  domestic  feeling  of  the  old  English  coun- 
try gentleman;  and  it  is  an  incident  curious  in  monumental  history,  and  creditable 
to  the  human  heart,  a  monarch  erecting  a  monument  in  honour  of  the  humble  virtue 
of  a  menial. 


THE  WIDOW.  21 


THE  WIDOW. 

She  was  so  charitable  and  pitious 

She  would  weep  if  that  she  saw  a  mous 

Caught  in  a  trap,  if  it  were  dead  or  bled: 

Of  small  hounds  had  she,  that  she  fed 

With  rost  flesh,  milke,  and  wastel  bread, 

But  sore  wept  she  if  any  of  them  were  dead, 

Or  if  man  smote  them  with  a  yard  smart.— CHAUCER. 

NOTWITHSTANDING  the  whimsical  parade  made  by  Lady  Lilly- 
craft  on  her  arrival,  she  has  none  of  the  petty  stateliness  that  I 
had  imagined ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  she  has  a  degree  of  nature 
and  simple-heartedness,  if  I  may  use  the  phrase,  that  mingles 
well  with  her  old-fashioned  manners  and  harmless  ostentation. 
She  dresses  in  rich  silks,  with  long  waist ;  she  rouges  consider- 
ably, and  her  hair,  which  is  nearly  white,  is  frizzed  out,  and 
put  up  with  pins.  Her  face  is  pitted  with  the  small-pox,  but 
the  delicacy  of  her  features  shows  that  she  may  once  have  been 
beautiful ;  and  she  has  a  very  fair  and  well-shaped  hand  and 
arm,  of  which,  if  I  mistake  not,  the  good  lady  is  still  a  little 
vain. 

I  have  had  the  curiosity  to  gather  a  few  particulars  concern- 
ing her.  She  was  a  great  belle  in  town,  between  thirty  and 
forty  years  since,  and  reigned  for  two  seasons  with  all  the  inso- 
lence of  beauty,  refusing  several  excellent  offers;  when,  un- 
fortunately, she  was  robbed  of  her  charms  and  her  lovers  by 
an  attack  of  the  small-pox.  She  retired  immediately  into  the 
country,  where  she  some  time  after  inherited  an  estate,  and 
married  a  baronet,  a  former  admirer,  whose  passion  had  sud- 
denly revived ;  " having, "  as  he  said,  "always  loved  her  mind 
rather  than  her  person." 

The  baronet  did  not  enjoy  her  mind  and  fortune  above  six 
months,  and  had  scarcely  grown  very  tired  of  her,  when  he 
broke  his  neck  in  a  fox-chase,  and  left  her  free,  rich,  and  dis- 
consolate. She  has  remained  on  her  estate  in  the  country  ever 
since,  and  has  never  shown  any  desire  to  return  to  town,  and 
revisit  the  scene  of  her  early  triumphs  and  fatal  malady.  All 
her  favourite  recollections,  however,  revert  to  that  short  period 
of  her  youthful  beauty.  She  has  no  idea  of  town  but  as  it  was 
at  that  time ;  and  continually  forgets  that  the  place  and  people 
must  have  changed  materially  in  the  course  of  nearly  half  a 
century.  She  will  often  speak  of  the  toasts  of  those  days  as  if 


22  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

Btill  reigning;  and,  until  very  recently,  used  to  talk  with  delight 
of  the  royal  family,  and  the  beauty  of  the  young  princes  and 
princesses.  She  cannot  be  brought  to  think  of  the  present  king 
otherwise  than  as  an  elegant  young  man,  rather  wild,  but  who 
danced  a  minuet  divinely ;  and  before  he  came  to  the  crown, 
would  often  mention  him  as  the  "sweet  young  prince." 

She  talks  also  of  the  walks  in  Kensington  Garden,  where  the 
gentlemen  appeared  in  gold-'iaced  coats,  and  cocked  hats,  and 
the  ladies  in  hoops,  and  swept  so  proudly  along  the  grassy 
avenues;  and  she  thinks  the  ladies  let  themselves  sadly  down 
in  their  dignity,  when  they  gave  up  cushioned  head-dresses, 
and  high-heeled  snoes.  She  has  much  to  say  too  of  the  officers 
who  were  in  the  train  of  her  admirers ;  and  speaks  familiarly 
of  many  wild  young  blades,  that  are  now,  perhaps,  hobbling 
about  watering-places  with  crutches  and  gouty  shoes. 

Whether  the  taste  the  good  lady  had  of  matrimony  discour- 
aged her  or  not,  I  cannot  say ;  but  though  her  merits  and  her 
riches  have  attracted  many  suitors,  she  has  never  been  tempted 
to  venture  again  into  the  happy  state.  This  is  singular,  too, 
for  she  seems  of  a  most  soft  and  susceptible  heart ;  is  always 
talking  of  love  and  connubial  felicity,  and  is  a  great  stickler  for 
old-fashioned  gallantry,  devoted  attentions,  and  eternal  con- 
stancy, on  the  part  of  the  gentlemen.  She  li ves,  however,  after 
her.  own  taste.  Her  house,  I  am  told,  must  have  been  built  and 
furnished  about  the  time  of  Sir  Charles  Grandison :  every  thing 
about  it  is  somewhat  formal  and  stately ;  but  has  been  softened 
down  into  a  degree  of  voluptuousness,  characteristic  of  an  old 
lady,  very  tender-hearted  and  romantic,  and  that  loves  her 
ease.  The  cushions  of  the  great  arm-chairs,  and  wide  sofas, 
almost  bury  you  when  you  sit  down  on  them.  Flowers  of  the 
most  rare  and  delicate  kind  are  placed  about  the  rooms,  and  on 
little  japanned  stands ;  and  sweet  bags  lie  about  the  tables  and 
mantel-pieces.  The  house  is  full  of  pet  dogs,  Angora  cats,  and 
singing  birds,  who  are  as  carefully  waited  upon  as  she  is  her- 
self. 

She  is  dainty  in  her  living,  and  a  little  of  an  epicure,  living  on 
white  meats,  and  little  lady-like  dishes,  though  her  servants 
have  substantial  old  English  fare,  as  their  looks  bear  witness. 
Indeed,  they  are  so  indulged,  that  they  are  all  spoiled ;  and 
when  they  lose  their  present  place,  they  will  be  fit  for  no  other. 
Her  ladyship  is  one  of  those  easy-tempered  beings  that  are 
always  doomed  to  be  much  liked,  but  ill  served  by  their  domes- 
tics, and  cheated  by  all  the  world. 


THE  WIDOW.  23 

Much  of  her  time  is  passed  in  reading  novels,  of  which  she 
has  a  most  extensive  library,  and  has  a  constant  supply  from 
the  publishers  in  town.  Her  erudition  in  this  line  of  literature 
is  immense ;  she  has  kept  pace  with  the  press  for  half  a  century. 
Her  mind  is  stuffed  with  love-tales  of  all  kinds,  from  the  stately 
amours  of  the  old  books  of  chivalry,  down  to  the  last  blue- 
covered  romance,  reeking  from  the  press ;  though  she  evidently 
gives  the  preference  to  those  that  came  out  in  the  days  of  her 
youth,  and  when  she  was  first  in  love.  She  maintains  that 
there  are  no  novels  written  now-a-days  equal  to  Pamela  and  Sir 
Charles  Grandison ;  and  she  places  the  Castle  of  Otranto  at  the 
head  of  all  romances. 

She  does  a  vast  deal  of  good  hi  her  neighbourhood,  and  is 
imposed  upon  by  every  beggar  in  the  county.  She  is  the  bene- 
factress of  a  village  adjoining  to  her  estate,  and  takes  an  especial 
interest  in  all  its  love-affairs.  She  knows  of  every  courtship 
that  is  going  on ;  every  lovelorn  damsel  is  sure  to  find  a  patient 
listener  and  a  sage  adviser  in  her  ladyship.  She  takes  great 
pains  to  reconcile  all  love-quarrels,  and  should  any  faithless 
swain  persist  in  his  inconstancy,  he  is  sure  to  draw  on  himself 
the  good  lady's  violent  indignation. 

I  have  learned  these  particulars  partly  from  Frank  Brace- 
bridge,  and  partly  from  Master  Simon.  I  am  now  able  to 
account  for  the  assiduous  attention  of  the  latter  to  her  lady- 
ship. Her  house  is  one  of  his  favourite  resorts,  where  he  is  a 
very  important  personage.  He  makes  her  a  visit  of  business 
once  a  year,  when  he  looks  into  all  her  affairs ;  which,  as  she  is 
no  manager,  are  apt  to  get  into  confusion.  He  examines  the 
books  of  the  overseer,  and  shoots  about  the  estate,  which,  he 
says,  is  well  stocked  with  game,  notwithstanding  that  it  is 
poached  by  all  the  vagabonds  in  the  neighbourhood. 

It  is  thought,  as  I  before  hinted,  that  the  captain  will  inherit 
the  greater  part  of  her  property,  having  always  been  her  chief 
favourite ;  for,  in  fact,  she  is  partial  to  a  red  coat.  She  has  now 
come  to  the  Hall  to  be  present  at  his  nuptials,  having  a  great 
disposition  to  interest  herself  in  all  matters  of  love  and  matri- 
mony. 


BRACEBRIDOE  HALL 


THE  LOVERS. 

Rise  up  my  love,  my  fair  one,  and  come  away;  for,  lo,  the  winter  is  past,  the  rain 
is  over  and  gone;  the  flowers  appear  on  the  earth;  the  time  of  the  singing  of  birds 
is  come,  and  the  voice  of  the  turtle  is  heard  in  the  land.—  SONO  OF  SOLOMON. 

To  a  man  who  is  a  little  of  a  philosopher,  and  a  bachelor  to 
boot  •  and  who,  by  dint  of  some  experience  in  the  follies  of  life, 
begins  to  look  with  a  learned  eye  upon  the  ways  of  man,  and 
eke  of  woman;  to  such  a  man,  I  say,  there  is  something  very 
entertaining  in  noticing  the  conduct  of  a  pair  of  young  lovers. 
It  may  not  be  as  grave  and  scientific  a  study  as  the  loves  of  the 
plants,  but  it  is  certainly  as  interesting. 

I  have,  therefore,  derived  much  pleasure,  since  my  arrival  at 
the  Hall,  from  observing  the  fair  Julia  and  her  lover.  She  has 
all  the  delightful,  blushing  consciousness  of  an  artless  girl,  inex- 
perienced in  coquetry,  who  has  made  her  first  conquest ;  while 
the  captain  regards  her  with  that  mixture  of  fondness  and  exul- 
tation with  which  a  youthful  lover  is  apt  to  contemplate  so 
beauteous  a  prize. 

I  observed  them  yesterday  in  the  garden,  advancing  along 
one  of  the  retired  walks.  The  sun  was  shining  with  delicious 
warmth,  making  great  masses  of  bright  verdure,  and  deep  blue 
shade.  The  cuckoo,  that  "harbinger  of  spring,"  was  faintly 
heard  from  a  distance ;  the  thrush  piped  from  the  hawthorn ; 
and  the  yellow  butterflies  sported,  and  toyed,  and  coquetted  in 
the  air. 

The  fair  Julia  was  leaning  on  her  lover's  arm,  listening  to  his 
conversation,  with  her  eyes  cast  down,  a  soft  blush  on  her 
cheek,  and  a  quiet  smile  on  her  lips,  while  in  the  hand  that 
hung  negligently  by  her  side  was  a  bunch  of  flowers.  In  this 
way  they  were  sauntering  slowly  along ;  and  when  I  considered 
them  and  the  scene  in  which  they  were  moving,  I  could  not  but 
think  it  a  thousand  pities  that  the  season  should  ever  change, 
or  that  young  people  should  ever  grow  older,  or  that  blossoms 
should  give  way  to  fruit,  or  that  lovers  should  ever  get  mar- 
ried. 

From  what  I  have  gathered  of  family  anecdote,  I  understand 
that  the  fair  Julia  is  the  daughter  of  a  favourite  collepre  friend 
of  the  Squire ;  who,  after  leaving  Oxford,  had  entered  the  army, 
and  served  for  many  years  in  India,  where  he  was  mortally 
wounded  in  a  skirmish  with  the  natives.  In  his  last  momenta 


THE  LOVERS.  25 

he  had,  with  a  faltering  pen,  recommended  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter to  the  kindness  of  his  early  friend. 

The  widow  and  her  child  returned  to  England  helpless  and 
almost  hopeless.  When  Mr.  Bracebridge  received  accounts  of 
their  situation,  he  hastened  to  their  relief.  He  reached  them 
just  in  time  to  soothe  the  last  moments  of  the  mother,  who  was 
dying  of  a  consumption,  and  to  make  her  happy  in  the  assur- 
ance that  her  child  should  never  want  a  protector. 

The  good  Squire  returned  with  his  prattling  charge  to  his 
strong-hold,  where  he  had  brought  her  up  with  a  tenderness 
truly  paternal.  As  he  has  taken  some  pains  to  superintend  her 
education,  and  form  her  taste,  she  has  grown  up  with  many  of 
his  notions,  and  considers  him  the  wisest,  as  well  as  the  best  of 
men.  Much  of  her  time,  too,  has  been  passed  with  Lady  Lilly- 
craft,  who  has  instructed  her  in  the  manners  of  the  old  school, 
and  enriched  her  mind  with  all  kinds  of  novels  and  romances. 
Indeed,  her  ladyship  has  had  a  great  hand  in  promoting  the 
match  between  Julia  and  the  captain,  having  had  them  together 
at  her  country-seat,  the  moment  she  found  there  was  an  attach- 
ment growing  up  between  them ;  the  good  lady  being  never  so 
happy  as  when  she  has  a  pair  of  turtles  cooing  about  her. 

I  have  been  pleased  to  see  the  fondness  with  which  the  fair 
Julia  is  regarded  by  the  old  servants  at  the  Hall.  She  has  been 
a  pet  with  them  from  childhood,  and  every  one  seems  to  lay 
some  claim  to  her  education ;  so  that  it  is  no  wonder  that  she 
should  be  extremely  accomplished.  The  gardener  taught  her 
to  rear  flowers,  of  which  she  is  extremely  fond.  Old  Christy, 
the  pragmatical  huntsman,  softens  when  she  approaches ;  and 
as  she  sits  lightly  and  gracefully  in  her  saddle,  claims  the  merit 
of  having  taught  her  to  ride ;  while  the  housekeeper,  who  almost 
looks  upon  her  as  a  daughter,  intimates  that  she  first  gave  her 
an  insight  into  the  mysteries  of  the  toilet,  having  been  dressing- 
maid,  in  her  young  days,  to  the  late  Mrs.  Bracebridge.  I  am 
inclined  to  credit  this  last  claim,  as  I  have  noticed  that  the  dress 
of  the  young  lady  had  an  air  of  the  old  school,  though  managed 
with  native  taste,  and  that  her  hair  was  put  up  very  much  in 
the  style  of  Sir  Peter  Lely's  portraits  in  the  picture  gallery. 

Her  very  musical  attainments  partake  of  this  old-fashioned 
character,  and  most  of  her  songs  are  such  as  are  not  at  the 
present  day  to  be  found  on  the  piano  of  a  modern  performer. 
I  have,  however,  seen  so  much  of  modern  fashions,  modern 
accomplishments,  and  modern  fine  ladies,  that  I  relish  this  tinge 
of  antiquated  style  in  so  young  and  lovely  a  girl  ;  and  I  have 


26  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

had  as  much  pleasure  in  hearing  her  warble  one  of  the  old  songs 
of  Herrick.  or  Carew,  or  Suckling,  adapted  to  some  simple  old 
melody,  as  I  have  had  from  listening  to  a  lady  amateur  sky- 
lark it  up  and  down  through  the  finest  bravura  of  Rossini  or 
Mozart. 

We  have  very  pretty  music  in  the  evenings,  occasionally, 
between  her  and  the  captain,  assisted  sometimes  by  Master 
Simon,  who  scrapes,  dubiously,  on  his  violin ;  being  very  apt  to 
get  out,  and  to  halt  a  note  or  two  in  the  rear.  Sometimes  he 
even  thrums  a  little  on  the  piano,  and  takes  a  part  in  a  trio,  in 
which  his  voice  can  generally  be  distinguished  by  a  certain 
quavering  tone,  and  an  occasional  false  mote. 

I  was  praising  the  fair  Julia's  performance  to  him,  after  one 
of  her  songs,  when  I  found  he  took  to  himself  the  whole  credit 
of  having  formed  her  musical  taste,  assuring  me  that  she  was 
very  apt ;  and,  indeed,  summing  up  her  whole  character  in  his 
knowing  way,  by  adding,  that  "  she  was  a  very  nice  girl,  and 
had  no  nonsense  about  her." 


FAMILY  RELIQUES. 

My  Infelice's  face,  her  brow,  her  eye, 

The  dimple  on  her  cheek:  and  such  sweet  skill 

Hath  from  the  cunning  workman's  pencil  flown, 

These  lips  look  fresh  and  lively  as  her  own. 

False  colours  last  after  the  true  be  dead. 

Of  all  the  roses  grafted  on  her  cheeks, 

Of  all  the  graces  dancing  in  her  eyes, 

Of  all  the  music  set  upon  her  tongue, 

Of  all  that  was  past  woman's  excellence 

In  her  white  bosom;  look,  a  painted  board 

Circumscribes  all !— DEKKER. 

AN  old  English  family  mansion  is  a  fertile  subject  for  study. 
It  abounds  with  illustrations  of  former  times,  and  traces  of  the 
tastes,  and  humours,  and  manners  of  successive  generations. 
The  alterations  and  additions,  in  different  styles  of  architecture ; 
the  furniture,  plate,  pictures,  hangings ;  the  warlike  and  sport- 
ing implements  of  different  ages  and  fancies;  all  furnish  food 
for  curious  and  amusing  speculation.  As  the  Squire  is  very 
careful  in  collecting  and  \ jreserving  all  family  reliques,  the  Hall 
is  full  of  remembrances  of  the  kind.  In  looking  about  the  estab- 
lishment, I  can  picture  to  myself  the  characters  and  habits  that 


FAMILY  RELIQUES.  27 

have  prevailed  at  different  eras  of  the  family  history.  I  have 
mentioned,  on  a  former  occasion,  the  armour  of  the  crusader 
which  hangs  up  in  the  Hall.  There  are  also  several  jack-boots, 
with  enormously  thick  soles  and  high  heels,  that  belonged  to  a  set 
of  cavaliers,  who  filled  the  Hall  with  the  din  and  stir  of  arms 
during  the  time  of  the  Covenanters.  A  number  of  enormous 
drinking  vessels  of  antique  fashion,  with  huge  Venice  glasses, 
and  green-hock-glasses,  with  the  apostles  in  relief  on  them, 
remain-  as  monuments  of  a  generation  or  two  of  hard  livers, 
that  led  a  life  of  roaring  revelry,  and  first  introduced  the  gout 
into  the  family. 

I  shall  pass  over  several  more  such  indications  of  temporary 
tastes  of  the  Squire's  predecessors;  but  I  cannot  forbear  to 
notice  a  pair  of  antlers  in  the  great  hall,  which  is  one  of  the 
trophies  of  a  hard-riding  squire  of  former  times,  who  was  the 
Nimrod  of  these  parts.  There  are  many  traditions  of  his  won- 
derful feats  in  hunting  still  existing,  which  are  related  by  old 
Christy,  the  huntsman,  who  gets  exceedingly  nettled  if  they 
are  in  the  least  doubted.  Indeed,  there  is  a  frightful  chasm, 
a  few  miles  from  the  Hall,  which  goes  by  the  name  of  the 
Squire's  Leap,  from  his  having  cleared  it  in  the  ardour  of  the 
chase ;  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  fact,  for  old  Christy  shows 
the  very  dints  of  the  horse's  hoofs  on  the  rocks  on  each  side  of 
the  chasm. 

Master  Simon  holds  the  memory  of  this  squire  in  great  venera- 
tion, and  has  a  number  of  extraordinary  stories  to  tell  concern- 
ing him,  which  he  repeats  at  all  hunting  dinners;  and  I  am 
told  that  they  wax  more  and  more  marvellous  the  older  they 
grow.  He  has  also  a  pair  of  Rippon  spurs  which  belonged  to 
this  mighty  hunter  of  yore,  and  which  he  only  wears  on  par- 
ticular occasions. 

The  place,  however,  which  abounds  most  with  mementos  of 
past  times,  is  the  picture  gallery;  and  there  is  something 
strangely  pleasing,  though  melancholy,  in  considering  the  long 
rows  of  portraits  which  compose  the  greater  part  of  the  collec- 
tion. They  furnish  a  kind  of  narrative  of  the  lives  of  the  family 
worthies,  which  I  am  enabled  to  read  with  the  assistance  of  the 
venerable  housekeeper,  who  is  the  family  chronicler,  prompted 
occasionally  by  Master  Simon.  There  is  the  progress  of  a  fine 
lady,  for  instance,  through  a  variety  of  portraits.  One  repre- 
sents her  as  a  little  girl,  with  a  long  waist  and  hoop,  holding  a 
kitten  in  her  arms,  and  ogling  the  spectator  out  of  the  corners 
of  her  eyes,  as  if  she  could  not  turn  her  head.  In  another,  we 


28  BRACKBRIDOE  HALL. 

find  her  in  the  freshness  of  youthful  beauty,  when  she  was  a 
celebrated  belle,  and  so  hard-hearted  as  to  cause  several  unfor- 
tunate gentlemen  to  run  desperate  and  write  bad  poetry.  In 
another,  she  is  depicted  as  a  stately  dame,  in  the  maturity  of 
her  charms;  next  to  the  portrait  of  her  husband,  a  gallant 
colonel  in  full-bottomed  wig  and  gold-laced  hat,  who  was  killed 
abroad ;  and,  finally,  her  monument  is  in  the  church,  the  spire 
of  which  may  be  seen  from  the  window,  where  her  effigy  is 
carved  in  marble,  and  represents  her  as  a  venerable  dame  of 
seventy-six. 

In  like  manner,  I  have  followed  some  of  the  family  great  men 
through  a  series  of  pictures,  from  early  boyhood  to  the  robe  of 
dignity,  or  truncheon  of  command;  and  so  on  by  degrees, 
until  they  were  garnered  up  in  the  common  repository,  the 
neighbouring  church. 

There  is  one  group  that  particularly  interested  me.  It  con- 
sisted of  four  sisters,  of  nearly  the  same  age,  who  flourished 
about  a  century  since,  and,  if  I  may  judge  from  their  portraits, 
were  extremely  beautiful.  I  can  imagine  what  a  scene  of 
gayety  and  romance  this  old  mansion  must  have  been,  when 
they  were  in  the  heyday  of  their  charms ;  when  they  passed 
like  beautiful  visions  through  its  halls,  or  stepped  daintily  to 
music  in  the  revels  and  dances  of  the  cedar  gallery ;  or  printed, 
with  delicate  feet,  the  velvet  verdure  of  these  lawns.  How 
must  they  have  been  looked  up  to  with  mingled  love,  and 
pride,  and  reverence  by  the  old  family  servants ;  and  followed 
with  almost  painful  admiration  by  the  aching  eyes  of  rival 
admirers !  How  must  melody,  and  song,  and  tender  serenade, 
have  breathed  about  these  courts,  and  their  echoes  whispered 
to  the  loitering  tread  of  lovers  1  How  must  these  very  turrets 
have  made  the  hearts  of  the  young  galliards  thrill,  as  they  first 
discerned  them  from  afar,  rising  from  among  the  trees,  and 
pictured  to  themselves  the  beauties  casketed  like  gems  within 
these  walls !  Indeed,  I  have  discovered  about  the  place  several 
faint  records  of  this  reign  of  love  and  romance,  when  the  Hall 
was  a  kind  of  Court  of  Beauty. 

Several  of  the  old  romances  in  the  library  have  marginal 
notes  expressing  sympathy  and  approbation,  where  there  are 
long  speeches  extolling  ladies'  charms,  or  protesting  eternal 
fidelity,  or  bewailing  the  cruelty  of  some  tyrannical  fair  one. 
The  interviews,  and  declarations,  and  parting  scenes  of  tender 
lovers,  also  bear  the  marks  of  having  been  frequently  read, 
and  are  scored  and  marked  with  notes  of  admiration,  and  have 


FAMILY  RELIQUES.  29 

initials  written  on  the  margins;  most  of  which  annotations 
have  the  day  of  the  month  and  year  annexed  to  them.  Several 
of  the  windows,  too,  have  scraps  of  poetry  engraved  on  them 
with  diamonds,  taken  from  the  writings  of  the  fair  Mrs. 
Philips,  the  once  celebrated  Orinda,  Some  of  these  seem  to 
have  been  inscribed  by  lovers ;  and  others,  in  a  delicate  and 
unsteady  hand,  and  a  little  inaccurate  in  the  spelling,  have 
evidently  been  written  by  the  young  ladies  themselves,  or  by 
female  friends,  who  have  been  on  visits  to  the  Hall.  Mrs. 
Philips  seems  to  have  been  their  favourite  author,  and  they  have 
distributed  the  names  of  her  heroes  and  heroines  among  their 
circle  of  intimacy.  Sometimes,  in  a  male  hand,  the  verse 
bewails  the  cruelty  of  beauty,  and  the  sufferings  of  constant 
love;  while  in  a  female  hand  it  prudishly  confines  itself  to 
lamenting  the  parting  of  female  friends.  The  bow-window  of 
my  bed-room,  which  has,  doubtless,  been  inhabited  by  one  of 
these  beauties,  has  several  of  these  inscriptions.  I  have  one  at 
this  moment  before  my  eyes,  called  "  Camilla  parting  with 
Leonora:" 

"  How  perish'd  is  the  joy  that's  past, 

The  present  how  unsteady ! 
What  comfort  can  be  great  and  last, 
When  this  is  gone,  already'." 

And  close  by  it  is  another,  written,  perhaps,  by  some  adven- 
turous lover,  who  had  stolen  into  the  lady's  chamber  during 
her  absence: 

"THEODOSIUS  TO  CAMILLA. 

I'd  rather  in  your  favour  live, 

Than  in  a  lasting  name ; 
And  much  a  greater  rate  would  give 

For  happiness  than  fame. 

THEODOSIUS.    1700." 

When  I  look  at  these  faint  records  of  gallantry  and  tender- 
ness ;  when  I  contemplate  the  fading  portraits  of  these  beauti- 
ful girls,  and  think,  too,  that  they  have  long  since  bloomed, 
reigned,  grown  old,  died,  and  passed  away,  and  with  them  all 
their  graces,  their  triumphs,  their  rivalries,  their  admirers ;  the 
whole  empire  of  love  and  pleasure  in  which  they  ruled — "all 
dead,  all  buried,  all  forgotten,"  I  find  a  cloud  of  melancholy 
stealing  over  the  present  gayeties  around  me.  I  was  gazing, 
in  a  musing  mood,  this  very  morning,  at  the  portrait  of  the 
lady  whose  husband  was  killed  abroad,  when  the  fair  Julia 
entered  the  gallery,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  captain.  Tbt 


50  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

sun  stone  through  the  row  of  windows  on  her  as  she  passed 
along,  and  she  seemed  to  beam  out  each  time  into  brightness, 
and  relapse  into  shade,  until  the  door  at  the  bottom  of  the 
gallery  closed  after  her.  I  felt  a  sadness  of  heart  at  the  idea, 
that  this  was  an  emblem  of  her  lot:  a  few  more  years  of  sun- 
shine and  shade,  and  all  this  life  and  loveliness,  and  enjoyment, 
will  have  ceased,  and  nothing  be  left  to  commemorate  tliis 
'beautiful  being  but  one  more  perishable  portrait ;  to  awaken, 
perhaps,  the  trite  speculations  of  some  future  loiterer,  like 
myself,  when  I  and  my  scribblings  shall  have  lived  through 
our  brief  existence,  and  been  forgotten. 


AN  OLD  SOLDIER 

I've  worn  some  leather  out  abroad;  let  out  a  heathen  soul  or  two;  fed  this  good 
gword  with  the  black  blood  of  pagau  Christians;  converted  a  few  infidels  with  it. — 
But  let  that  pass.— The  Ordinary. 

THE  Hall  was  thrown  into  some  little  agitation,  a  few  days 
since,  by  the  arrival  of  General  Harbottle.  He  had  been 
expected  for  several  days,  and  had  been  looked  for,  rather 
impatiently,  by  several  of  the  family.  Master  Simon  assured 
me  that  I  would  like  the  general  hugely,  for  he  was  a  blade  of 
the  old  school,  and  an  excellent  table  companion.  Lady  Lilly- 
craft,  also,  appeared  to  be  somewhat  fluttered,  on  the  morning 
of  the  general's  arrival,  for  he  had  been  one  of  her  early  admi- 
rers ;  and  she  recollected  him  only  as  a  dashing  young  ensign, 
just  come  upon  the  town.  She  actually  spent  an  hour  longer 
at  her  toilette,  and  made  her  appearance  with  her  hair  uncom- 
monly frizzed  and  powdered,  and  an  additional  quantity  of 
rouge.  She  was  evidently  a  little  surprised  and  shocked,  there- 
fore, at  finding  the  lithe,  dashing  ensign  transformed  into  a 
corpulent  old  general,  with  a  double  chin;  though  it  was  a 
perfect  picture  to  witness  their  salutations;  the  graciousness 
of  her  profound  curtsy,  and  the  air  of  the  old  school  with  which 
the  general  took  off  his  hat,  swayed  it  gently  in  his  hand,  and 
bowed  his  powdered  head. 

All  this  bustle  and  anticipation  has  caused  me  to  study  the 
general  with  a  little  more  attention  than,  perhaps,  I  should 
otherwise  have  done ;  and  the  few  days  that  he  has  already 


AN  OLD  SOLDIER.  31 

passed  at  the  Hall  have  enabled  me,  I  think,  to  furnish  a  toler- 
able likeness  of  him  to  the  reader. 

He  is,  as  Master  Simon  observed,  a  soldier  of  the  old  school, 
with  powdered  head,  side  locks,  and  pigtail.  His  face  is  shaped 
like  the  stern  of  a  Dutch  man-of-war,  narrow  at  top  and  wide 
at  bottom,  with  full  rosy  cheeks  and  a  double  chin ;  so  that,  to 
use  the  cant  of  the  day,  his  organs  of  eating  may  be  said  to  be 
powerfully  developed. 

The  general,  though  a  veteran,  has  seen  very  little  active 
service,  except  the  taking  of  Seringapatam,  which  forms  an 
era  in  his  history.  He  wears  a  large  emerald  in  his  bosom, 
and  a  diamond  on  his  finger,  which  he  got  on  that  occasion, 
and  whoever  is  unlucky  enough  to  notice  either,  is  sure  to 
involve  himself  in  the  whole  history  of  the  siege.  To  judge 
from  the  general's  conversation,  the  taking  of  Seringapatam  is 
the  most  important  affair  that  has  occurred  for  the  last 
century. 

On  the  approach  of  warlike  times  on  the  continent,  he  was 
rapidly  promoted  to  get  him  out  of  the  way  of  younger  officers 
of  merit ;  until,  having  been  hoisted  to  the  rank  of  general,  he 
was  quietly  laid  on  the  shelf.  Since  that  time,  his  campaigns 
have  been  principally  confined  to  watering-places;  where  he 
drinks  the  waters  for  a  slight  touch  of  the  liver  which  he  got 
in  India ;  and  plays  whist  with  old  dowagers,  with  whom  he 
has  flirted  in  his  younger  days.  Indeed,  he  talks  of  all  the  fine 
women  of  the  last  half  century,  and,  according  to  hints  which 
he  now  and  then  drops,  has  enjoyed  the  particular  smiles  of 
many  of  them. 

He  has  seen  considerable  garrison  duty,  and  can  speak  of 
almost  every  place  famous  for  good  quarters,  and  where  the 
inhabitants  give  good  dinners.  He  is  a  diner  out  of  first-rate 
currency,  when  in  town;  being  invited  to  one  place,  because 
he  has  been  seen  at  another.  In  the  same  way  he  is  invited 
about  the  country-seats,  and  can  describe  half  the  seats  in  the 
kingdom,  from  actual  observation ;  nor  is  any  one  better  versed 
in  court  gossip,  and  the  pedigrees  and  intermarriages  of  the 
nobility. 

As  the  general  is  an  old  bachelor,  and  an  old  beau,  and  there 
are  several  ladies  at  the  Hall,  especially  his  quondam  flame 
Lady  Jocelyne,  he  is  put  rather  upon  his  gallantry.  He  com- 
monly passes  some  time,  therefore,  at  his  toilette,  and  takes 
the  field  at  a  late  hour  every  morning,  with  his  hair  dressed 
out  and  powdered,  and  a  rose  in  his  button-hole.  After  he  has 


32  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

breakfasted,  he  walks  up  and  down  the  terrace  in  the  sunshine, 
humming  an  air,  and  hemming  between  every  stave,  carrying 
one  hand  behind  his  back,  and  with  the  other  touching  his  cane 
to  the  ground,  and  then  raising  it  up  to  his  shoulder.  Should 
he,  in  these  morning  promenades,  meet  any  of  the  elder  ladies 
of  the  family,  as  he  frequently  does  Lady  Ldllycraft,  his  hat  is 
immediately  in  his  hand,  and  it  is  enough  to  remind  one  of 
those  courtly  groups  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  in  old  prints  of 
Windsor  terrace,  or  Kensington  garden. 

He  talks  frequently  about  "  the  service,"  and  is  fond  of  hum- 
ming the  old  song, 

Why,  soldiers,  why, 

Should  we  be  melancholy,  boys? 

Why,  soldiers,  why, 

Whose  business  't  is  to  die ! 

I  cannot  discover,  however,  that  the  general  has  ever  run  any 
great  risk  of  dying,  excepting  from  an  apoplexy  or  an  indiges- 
tion. He  criticises  all  the  battles  on  the  continent,  and  discusses 
the  merits  of  the  commanders,  but  never  fails  to  bring  the 
conversation,  ultimately,  to  Tippoo  Saib  and  Seringapatam.  I 
am  told  that  the  general  was  a  perfect  champion  at  drawing- 
rooms,  parades,  and  watering-places,  during  the  late  war,  and 
was  looked  to  with  hope  and  confidence  by  many  an  old  lady, 
when  labouring  under  the  terror  of  Buonaparte's  invasion. 

He  is  thoroughly  loyal,  and  attends  punctually  on  levees 
when  in  town.  He  has  treasured  up  many  remarkable  sayings 
of  the  late  king,  particularly  one  which  the  king  made  to  him 
on  a  field-day,  complimenting  him  on  the  excellence  of  his 
horse.  He  extols  the  whole  royal  family,  but  especially  the 
present  king,  whom  he  pronounces  the  most  perfect  gentleman 
and  best  whist-player  in  Europe.  The  general  swears  rather 
more  than  is  the  fashion  of  the  present  day ;  but  it  was  the 
mode  in  the  old  school.  He  is,  however,  very  strict  in  religious 
matters,  and  a  staunch  churchman.  He  repeats  the  responses 
very  loudly  in  church,  and  is  emphatical  in  praying  for  the 
king  and  royal  family. 

At  table,  his  loyalty  waxes  very  fervent  with  his  second 
bottle,  and  the  song  of  "God  save  the  King"  puts  him  into  a 
perfect  ecstasy.  He  is  amazingly  well  contented  with  the 
present  state  of  things,  and  apt  to  get  a  little  impatient  at  any 
talk  about  national  ruin  and  agricultural  distress.  He  says  he 
has  travelled  about  the  country  as  much  as  any  man,  and  has 
met  with  nothing  but  prosperity ;  and  to  confess  the  truth,  a 


TEE  WIDOW'S  RETINUE.  33 

great  part  of  his  time  is  spent  in  visiting  from  one  country-seat 
to  another,  and  riding  about  the  parks  of  his  friends.  "They 
talk  of  public  distress,"  said  the  general  this  day  to  me,  at 
dinner,  as  he  smacked  a  glass  of  rich  burgundy,  and  cast  his 
eyes  about  the  ample  board;  "  they  talk  of  public  distress,  but 
where  do  we  find  it,  sir?  I  see  none.  I  see  no  reason  why  any 
one  has  to  complain.  Take  my  word  for  it,  sir,  this  talk  about 
public  distress  is  all  humbug !" 


THE  WIDOW'S  EETINUE. 

Little  dogs  and  all ! — Lear. 

IN  giving  an  account  of  the  arrival  of  Lady  Lillycraft  at  the 
Hall,  I  ought  to  have  mentioned  the  entertainment  which  I 
derived  from  witnessing  the  unpacking  of  her  carriage,  and  the 
disposing  of  her  retinue.  There  is  something  extremely  amus- 
ing to  me  in  the  number  of  factitious  wants,  the  loads  of 
imaginary  conveniences,  but  real  encumbrances,  with  which 
the  luxurious  are  apt  to  burthen  themselves.  I  like  to  watch 
the  whimsical  stir  and  display  about  one  of  these  petty  pro- 
gresses. The  number  of  robustious  footmen  and  retainers  of 
all  kinds  bustling  about,  with  looks  of  infinite  gravity  and  im- 
portance, to  do  almost  nothing.  The  number  of  heavy  trunks, 
and  parcels,  and  bandboxes  belonging  to  my  lady;  and  the 
solicitude  exhibited  about  some  humble,  odd-looking  box,  by 
my  lady's  maid ;  the  cushions  piled  in  the  carriage  to  make  a 
soft  seat  still  softer,  and  to  prevent  the  dreaded  possibility  of  a 
jolt;  the  smelling-bottles,  the  cordials,  the  baskets  of  biscuit 
and  fruit ;  the  new  publications ;  all  provided  to  guard  against 
hunger,  fatigue,  or  ennui ;  the  led  horses,  to  vary  the  mode  of 
travelling ;  and  all  this  preparation  and  parade  to  move,  per- 
haps, some  very  good-for-nothing  personage  about  a  little  space 
of  earth ! 

I  do  not  mean  to  apply  the  latter  part  of  these  observations 
to  Lady  Lillycraft,  for  whose  simple  kind-heartedness  I  have  a 
very  great  respect,  and  who  is  really  a  most  amiable  and  worthy 
being.  I  cannot  refrain,  however,  from  mentioning  some  of 
the  motley  retinue  she  has  brought  with  her ;  and  which,  in- 
deed, bespeak  the  overflowing  kindness  of  her  nature,  which 
requires  her  to  be  surrounded  with  objects  on  which  to  lavish  it. 


g4  BRACEBRIDOK  HALL. 

Tn  the  first  place,  her  ladyship  has  a  pampered  coachman, 
with  a  red  face,  and  cheeks  that  hang  down  like  dew-laps.  He 
evidently  domineers  over  her  a  little  with  respect  to  the  fat 
horses ;  and  only  drives  out  when  he  thinks  proper,  and  when 
he  thinks  it  will  be  "good  for  the  cattle." 

She  has  a  favourite  page,  to  attend  upon  her  person ;  a  hand- 
some boy  of  about  twelve  years  of  age,  but  a  mischievous  var- 
let,  very  much  spoiled,  and  in  a  fair  way  to  be  good  for  nothing. 
He  is  dressed  in  green,  with  a  profusion  of  gold  cord  and  gilt 
buttons  about  his  clothes.  She  always  has  one  or  two  attend- 
ants of  the  kind,  who  are  replaced  by  others  as  soon  as  they 
grow  to  fourteen  years  of  age.  She  has  brought  two  dogs  with 
her,  also,  out  of  a  number  of  pets  which  she  maintains  at  home. 
One  is  a  fat  spaniel,  called  Zephyr — though  heaven  defend  me 
from  such  a  zephyr !  He  is  fed  out  of  all  shape  and  comfort ; 
his  eyes  are  nearly  strained  out  of  his  head ;  he  wheezes  with 
corpulency,  and  cannot  walk  without  great  difficulty.  The 
other  is  a  little,  old,  gray -muzzled  curmudgeon,  with  an  un- 
happy eye,  that  kindles  like  a  coal  if  you  only  look  at  him ;  his 
nose  turns  up ;  his  mouth  is  drawn  into  wrinkles,  so  as  to  show 
his  teeth ;  in  short,  he  has  altogether  the  look  of  a  dog  far  gone 
in  misanthropy,  and  totally  siok  of  the  world.  When  he 
walks,  he  has  his  tail  curled  up  so  tight  that  it  seems  to  lift  his 
feet  from  the  ground ;  and  he  seldom  makes  use  of  more  than 
three  legs  at  a  time,  keeping  the  other  drawn  up  as  a  reserve. 
This  last  wretch  is  called  Beauty. 

These  dogs  are  full  of  elegant  ailments,  unknown  to  vulgar 
dogs ;  and  are  petted  and  nursed  by  Lady  Lallycraft  with  the 
tenderest  kindness.  They  are  pampered  and  fed  with  delica- 
cies by  their  fellow-minion,  the  page ;  but  their  stomachs  are 
often  weak  and  out  of  order,  so  that  they  cannot  eat ;  though  I 
have  now  and  then  seen  the  page  give  them  a  mischievous 
pinch,  or  thwack  over  the  head,  when  his  mistress  was  not  by. 
They  have  cushions  for  their  express  use,  on  which  they  lie 
before  the  fire,  and  yet  are  apt  to  shiver  and  moan  if  there  is 
the  least  draught  of  air.  When  any  one  enters  the  room,  they 
make  a  most  tyrannical  barking  that  is  absolutely  deafening. 
They  are  insolent  to  all  the  other  dogs  of  the  establishment. 
There  is  a  noble  stag-hound,  a  great  favourite  of  the  Squire's, 
who  is  a  privileged  visitor  to  the  parlour;  but  the  moment  he 
makes  his  appearance,  these  intruders  fly  at  him  with  furious 
rage ;  and  I  have  admired  the  sovereign  indifference  and  con- 
tempt with  which  he  seems  to  look  down  upon  his  puny  assail- 


THE  WIDOWS  RETINUE.  %? 

ants.  When  her  ladyship  drives  oat,  these  dogs  are  generally 
carried  with  her  to  take  the  air ;  when  they  look  out  of  each 
window  of  the  carriage,  and  bark  at  all  vulgar  pedestrian  dogs. 
These  dogs  are  a  continual  source  of  misery  to  the  household : 
as  they  are  always  in  the  way,  they  every  now  and  then  ge* 
their  toes  trod  on,  and  then  there  is  a  yelping  on  their  part,  and 
a  loud  lamentation  on  the  part  of  their  mistress,  that  fills  the 
room  with  clamour  and  confusion 

Lastly,  there  is  her  ladyship's  waiting-gentlewoman,  Mrs. 
Hannah,  a  prim,  pragmatical  old  maid;  one  of  the  most 
intolerable  and  intolerant  virgins  that  ever  lived.  She  has 
kept  her  virtue  by  her  until  it  has  turned  sour,  and  now  every 
word  and  look  smacks  of  verjuice.  She  is  the  very  opposite  to 
her  mistress,  for  one  hates,  and  the  other  loves,  all  mankind. 
How  they  first  came  together  I  cannot  imagine ;  but  they  have 
lived  together  for  many  years ;  and  the  abigail's  temper  being 
tart  and  encroaching,  and  her  ladyship's  easy  and  yielding,  the 
former  has  got  the  complete  upper  hand,  and  tyrannizes  over 
the  good  lady  in  secret. 

Lady  Lillycraft  now  and  then  complains  of  it,  in  great  con- 
fidence, to  her  friends,  but  hushes  up  the  subject  immediately, 
if  Mrs.  Hannah  makes  her  appearance.  Indeed,  she  has  been 
so  accustomed  to  be  attended  by  her,  that  she  thinks  she  could 
not  do  without  her ;  though  one  great  study  of  her  life,  is  to 
keep  Mrs.  Hannah  in  good-humour,  by  little  presents  and  kind- 
nesses. f 

Master  Sinu,a  has  a  most  devout  abhorrence,  mingled  with 
awe,  for  this  ancient  spinster.  He  told  me  the  other  day,  in  a 
whisper,  that  she  was  a  cursed  brimstone — in  fact,  he  added 
another  epithet,  which  I  woiild  not  repeat  for  the  world.  I 
have  remarked,  however,  that  he  is  always  extremely  ci^1  ix> 
her  when  they  meet. 


36  BRACEBRIVGE  HALL. 


READY-MONEY  JACK. 

My  purse,  it  is  my  privy  wyfe, 

This  song  I  dare  both  syng  and  say, 

It  keepeth  men  from  grievous  stryfe 

When  every  man  for  himself  shall  pay. 

As  I  ryde  in  ryche  array 

For  gold  and  silver  men  wyll  me  floryshe; 

But  thys  matter  I  dare  well  saye. 

Every  gramercy  myne  own  purse.—  Book  of  Hunting. 

ON  the  skirts  of  the  neighbouring  village,  there  lives  a  kind  of 
small  potentate,  who,  for  aught  I  know,  is  a  representative  of 
one  of  the  most  ancient  legitimate  lines  of  the  present  day ;  for 
the  empire  over  which  he  reigns  has  belonged  to  his  family 
time  out  of  mind.  His  territories  comprise  a  considerable 
number  of  good  fat  acres ;  and  his  seat  of  power  is  in  an  old 
farm-house,  where  he  enjoys,  unmolested,  the  stout  oaken 
chair  of  his  ancestors.  The  personage  to  whom  I  allude  is  a 
sturdy  old  yeoman  of  the  name  of  John  Tibbets,  or  rather, 
Ready-Money  Jack  Tibbets,  as  he  is  called  throughout  the 
neighbourhood. 

The  first  place  where  he  attracted  my  attention  was  in  the 
church-yard  on  Sunday ;  where  he  sat  on  a  tombstone  after  the 
service,  with  his  hat  a  little  on  one  side,  holding  forth  to  a 
small  circle  of  auditors;  and,  as  I  presumed,  expounding  the 
law  and  the  prophets ;  until,  on  drawing  a  little  nearer,  I  found 
he  was  only  expatiating  on  the  merits  of  a  brown  horse.  He 
presented  so  faithful  a  picture  of  a  substantial  English  yeoman, 
such  as  he  is  often  described  in  books,  heightened,  indeed,  by 
some  little  finery,  peculiar  to  himself,  that  I  could  not  but  take 
i  note  of  his  whole  appearance. 

He  was  between  fifty  and  sixty,  of  a  strong,  muscular  frame, 
and  at  least  six  feet  high,  with  a  physiognomy  as  grave  as  a 
lion's,  and  set  off  with  short,  curling,  iron-gray  locks.  His 
Blurt-collar  was  turned  down,  and  displayed  a  neck  covered 
with  the  same  short,  curling,  gray  hair ;  and  he  wore  a  coloured 
silk  neckcloth,  tied  very  loosely,  and  tucked  in  at  the  bosom, 
with  a  green  paste  brooch  on  the  knot.  His  coat  was  of  dark 
green  cloth,  with  silver  buttons,  on  each  of  which  was  engraved 
a  stag,  with  his  own  name,  John  Tibbets,  underneath.  He  had 
an  inner  waistcoat  of  figured  chintz,  between  which  and  hie 
coat  was  another  of  scarlet  cloth,  unbuttoned.  His  breeches 


READY-MONET  JACK  37 

were  also  left  unbuttoned  at  the  knees,  not  from  any  sloven- 
liness, but  to  show  a  broad  pair  of  scarlet  garters.  His  stock- 
ings were  blue,  with  white  clocks ;  he  wore  large  silver  shoe- 
buckles  ;  a  broad  paste  buckle  in  his  hatband ;  his  sleeve-buttons 
were  gold  seven-shilling  pieces ;  and  he  had  two  or  three  guineas 
hanging  as  ornaments  to  his  watch-chain. 

On  making  some  inquiries  about  him,  I  gathered  that  he  was 
descended  from  a  line  of  farmers,  that  had  always  lived  on  the 
same  spot,  and  owned  the  same  property ;  and  that  half  of  the 
church-yard  was  taken  up  with  the  tombstones  of  his  race.  He 
has  all  his  lif  e  been  an  important  character  in  the  place.  When 
a  youngster,  he  was  one  of  the  most  roaring  blades  of  the 
neighbourhood.  No  one  could  match  him  at  wrestling,  pitching 
the  bar,  cudgel  play,  and  other  athletic  exercises.  Lake  the 
renowned  Pinner  of  Wakefield,  he  was  the  village  champion ; 
carried  off  the  prize  at  all  the  fairs,  and  threw  his  gauntlet  at 
the  country  round.  Even  to  this  day,  the  old  people  talk  of  his 
prowess,  and  undervalue,  in  comparison,  all  heroes  of  the  green 
that  have  succeeded  him ;  nay,  they  say,  that  if  Ready-Money 
Jack  were  to  take  the  field  even  now,  there  is  no  one  could 
stand  before  him. 

When  Jack's  father  died,  the  neighbours  shook  their  heads, 
and  predicted  that  young  hopeful  would  soon  make  way  with 
the  old  homestead ;  but  Jack  falsified  all  their  predictions.  The 
moment  he  succeeded  to  the  paternal  farm,  he  assumed  a  new 
character ;  took  a  wife ;  attended  resolutely  to  his  affairs,  and 
became  an  industrious,  thrifty  farmer.  With  the  family  pro- 
perty, he  inherited  a  set  of  old  family  maxims,  to  which  he 
steadily  adhered.  He  saw  to  everything  himself ;  put  his  own 
hand  to  the  plough;  worked  hard;  ate  heartily;  slept  soundly; 
paid  for  every  thing  in  cash  down ;  and  never  danced,  except 
he  could  do  it  to  the  music  of  his  own  money  in  both  pockets. 
He  has  never  been  without  a  hundred  or  two  pounds  in  gold  by 
him,  and  never  allows  a  debt  to  stand  unpaid.  This  has  gained 
him  his  current  name,  of  which,  by  the  by,  he  is  a  little  proud  ; 
and  has  caused  him  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  very  wealthy  man 
by  all  the  village. 

Notwithstanding  his  thrift,  however,  he  has  never  denied 
himself  the  amusements  of  life,  but  has  taken  a  share  in  every 
passing  pleasure.  It  is  his  maxim  that  ' '  he  that  works  hard 
can  afford  to  play. "  He  is,  therefore,  an  attendant  at  all  the 
country  fairs  and  wakes,  and  has  signalized  him  pelf  by  feats  of 
strength  and  prowess  on  every  village  green  in  the  shire.  He 


430076 


38  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

often  makes  his  appearance  at  horse-races,  and  sports  his  half- 
guinea,  and  even  his  guinea  at  a  time  ;  keeps  a  good  horse  for 
his  own  riding,  and  to  this  day  is  fond  of  following  the  hounds, 
and  is  generally  in  at  the  death.  He  keeps  up  the  rustic 
revels,  and  hospitalities  too,  for  which  his  paternal  fann-house 
has  always  been  noted  ;  has  plenty  of  good  cheer  and  dancing 
at  harvest-home,  and,  above  all,  keeps  the  "merry  night,"  *  as 
it  is  termed,  at  Christmas. 

With  all  his  love  of  amusement,  however,  Jack  is  by  no 
means  a  boisterous,  jovial  companion.  He  is  seldom  known  to 
laugh  even  in  the  midst  of  his  gayety  ;  but  maintains  the 
same  grave,  lion-like  demeanour.  He  is  very  slow  at  compre- 
hending a  joke  ;  and  is  apt  to  sit  puzzling  at  it  with  a  perplexed 
look,  while  the  rest  of  the  company  is  in  a  roar.  This  gravity 
has,  perhaps,  grown  on  him  with  the  growing  weight  of  his 
character  ;  for  he  is  gradually  rising  into  patriarchal  dignity 
in  his  native  place.  Though  he  no  longer  takes  an  active  part 
in  athletic  sports,  yet  he  always  presides  at  them,  and  is  ap- 
pealed to  on  all  occasions  as  umpire.  He  maintains  the  peace 
on  the  village  green  at  holiday  games,  and  quells  all  brawls 
and  quarrels  by  collaring  the  parties  and  shaking  them  heartily, 
if  refractory.  No  one  ever  pretends  to  raise  a  hand  against 
him,  or  to  contend  against  his  decisions  ;  the  young  men  hav- 
ing grown  up  in  habitual  awe  of  his  prowess,  and  in  impli- 
cit deference  to  him  as  the  champion  and  lord  of  the  green. 

He  is  a  regular  frequenter  of  the  village  inn,  the  landlady 
having  been  a  sweetheart  of  his  in  early  life,  and  he  having 
always  continued  on  kind  terms  with  her.  He  seldom,  how- 
ever, drinks  any  thing  but  a  draught  of  ale ;  smokes  his  pipe, 
and  pays  his  reckoning  before  leaving  the  tap-room.  Here  he 
"gives  his  little  senate  laws ;"  decides  bets,  which  are  very  gen- 
erally referred  to  him;  determines  upon  the  characters  and 
qualities  of  horses ;  and,  indeed,  plays  now  and  then  the  part 
of  a  judge  in  settling  petty  disputes  between  neighbours,  which 
otherwise  might  have  been  nursed  by  country  attorneys  into 
tolerable  law-suits.  Jack  is  very  candid  and  impartial  in  his 
decisions,  but  he  has  not  a  head  to  carry  a  long  argument, 
and  is  very  apt  to  get  perplexed  and  out  of  patience  if  there  ia 
much  pleading.  He  generally  breaks  through  the  argument 

*  MERRY  NIGHT — a  rustic  merry-making  in  a  farm-house  about  Christmas,  com 
mon  In  some  parts  of  Yorkshire.  There  is  abundance  of  homely  fare,  tea,  cakes, 
fruit,  and  ale;  various  feats  of  agility,  amusing  games,  romping,  dancing,  and  kisa» 
Ing  withal.  They  commonly  break  up  at  midnight. 


READY-MONEY  JACK  33 

with  a  strong  voice,  and  brings  matters  to  a  summary  conclu- 
sion, by  pronouncing  what  he  calls  the  "upshot  of  the  busi- 
ness," or,  in  other  words,  "the -long  and  the  short  of  the 
matter." 

Jack  once  made  a  journey  to  London,  a  great  many  years 
since,  which  has  furnished  him  with  topics  of  conversation 
ever  since.  He  saw  the  old  king  on  the  terrace  at  Windsor, 
who  stopped,  and  pointed  him  out  to  one  of  the  princesses, 
being  probably  struck  with  Jack's  truly  yeoman-like  appear- 
ance. This  is  a  favourite  anecdote  with  him,  and  has  no  doubt 
had  a  great  effect  in  making  him  a  most  loyal  subject  ever 
since,  in  spite  of  taxes  and  poors'  rates.  He  was  also  at  Bar- 
tholomew fair,  where  he  had  half  the  buttons  cut  off  his  coat ; 
and  a  gang  of  pick-pockets,  attracted  by  his  external  show  of 
gold  and  silver,  made  a  regular  attempt  to  hustle  him  as  he  was 
gazing  at  a  show;  but  for  once  they  found  that  they  had 
caught  a  tartar ;  for  Jack  enacted  as  great  wonders  among  the 
gang  as  Samson  did  among  the  Philistines.  One  of  his  neigh- 
bours, who  had  accompanied  him  to  town,  and  was  with  him  at 
the  fair,  brought  back  an  account  of  his  exploits,  which  raised 
the  pride  of  the  whole  village ;  who  considered  their  champion 
as  having  subdued  ah1  London,  and  eclipsed  the  achievements 
of  Friar  Tuck,  or  even  the  renowned  Robin  Hood  himself. 

Of  late  years,  the  old  fellow  has  begun  to  take  the  world 
easily ;  he  works  less,  and  indulges  in  greater  leisure,  his  son 
having  grown  up,  and  succeeded  to  Mm  both  in  the  labours  of 
the  farm,  and  the  exploits  of  the  green.  Like  all  sons  of  dis- 
tinguished men,  however,  his  father's  renown  is  a  disadvantage 
to  him,  for  he  can  never  come  up  to  public  expectation. 
Though  a  fine  active  fellow  of  three-and-twenty,  and  quite  the 
"cock  of  the  walk,  "yet  the  old  people  declare  he  is  nothing 
like  what  Ready-Money  Jack  was  at  his  time  of  life.  The 
youngster  himself  acknowledges  his  inferiority,  and  has  a  won- 
derful opinion  of  the  old  man,  who  indeed  taught  him  all  his 
athletic  accomplishments,  and  holds  such  a  sway  over  him, 
that  I  am  told,  even  to  this  day,  he  would  have  no  hesitation 
to  take  him  in  hands,  if  he  rebelled  against  paternal  govern- 
ment. 

The  Squire  holds  Jack  in  very  high  esteem,  and  shows  him 
to  all  his  visitors,  as  a  specimen  of  old  English  "heart  of  oak." 
He  frequently  calls  at  his  house,  and  tastes  some  of  his  home- 
brewed, which  is  excellent.  He  made  Jack  a  present  of  old 
Tusser's  "Hundred  Points  of  good  Husbandrie,"  which  has 


40  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

furnished  him  with  reading  ever  since,  and  is  his  text-book 
and  manual  in  all  agricultural  and  domestic  concerns.  He  haa 
made  dog's  ears-at  the  most  favourite  passages,  and  knows 
many  of  the  poetical  maxims  by  heart. 

Tibbets,  though  not  a  man  to  be  daunted  or  flattered  by  high 
acquaintances;  and  though  he  cherishes  a  sturdy  independence 
of  mind  and  manner,  yet  is  evidently  gratified  by  the  atten- 
tions of  the  Squire,  whom  he  has  known  from  boyhood,  and 
pronounces  ' '  a  truegentleman  every  inch  of  him. "  He  is  also  on 
excellent  terms  with  Master  Simon,  who  is  a  kind  of  privy 
counsellor  to  the  family ;  but  his  great  favourite  is  the  Oxonian, 
whom  he  taught  to  wrestle  and  play  at  quarter-staff  when  a 
boy,  and  considers  the  most  promising  young  gentleman  in 
the  whole  country. 


BACHELORS. 

The  Bachelor  most  joyfully 

In  pleasant  plight  doth  pass  his  dales. 

Good  fellowship  and  conipanie 

He  doth  maintain  and  keep  alwaies.  — EVKJ'S  Old  Balladt. 

THERE  is  no  character  in  the  comedy  of  human  life  that  ia 
more  difficult  to  play  well,  than  that  of  an  old  Bachelor.  When 
ft  single  gentleman,  therefore,  arrives  at  that  critical  period 
when  he  begins  to  consider  it  an  impertinent  question  to  be 
asked  his  age,  I  would  advise  him  to  look  well  to  his  ways. 
This  period,  it  is  true,  is  much  later  with  some  men  than  with 
others ;  I  have  witnessed  more  than  once  the  meeting  of  two 
wrinkled  old  lads  of  this  kind,  who  had  not  seen  each  other  for 
several  years,  and  have  been  amused  by  the  amicable  exchange 
of  compliments  on  each  other's  appearance,  that  takes  place  on 
Buch  occasions.  There  is  always  one  invariable  observation: 
u  Why,  bless  my  soul !  you  look  younger  than  when  I  last  saw 
you !"  Whenever  a  man's  friends  begin  to  compliment  him 
about  looking  young,  he  may  be  sure  that  they  think  he  is 
growing  old. 

I  am  led  to  make  these  remarks  by  the  conduct  of  Master 
Simon  and  the  general,  who  have  become  great  cronies.  As 
the  former  is  the  younger  by  many  years,  he  is  regarded  as 
quite  a  youthful  blade  by  the  general,  who  moreover  looks 


BACHELORS.  41 

upon  him  as  a  man  of  great  wit  and  prodigious  acquirements. 
I  have  already  hinted  that  Master  Simon  is  a  family  beau,  and 
considered  rather  a  young  fellow  by  all  the  elderly  ladies  of  the 
connexion;  for  an  old  bachelor,  in  an  old  family  connexion,  is 
something  like  an  actor  in  a  regular  dramatic  corps,  who  seems 
to  "  flourish  in  immortal  youth,"  and  will  continue  to  play  the 
Romeos  and  Rangers  for  half  a  century  together. 

Master  Simon,  too,  is  a  little  of  the  chameleon,  and  takes  a 
different  hue  with  every  different  companion :  he  is  very  atten- 
tive and  officious,  and  somewhat  sentimental,  with  Lady  Lilly- 
craft  ;  copies  out  little  namby-pamby  ditties  and  love-songs  for 
her,  and  draws  quivers,  and  doves,  and  darts,  and  Cupids,  to 
be  worked  on  the  corners  of  her  pocket-handkerchiefs.  He 
indulges,  however,  in  very  considerable  latitude  with  the  other 
married  ladies  of  the  family;  and  has  many  sly- pleasantries  to 
whisper  to  them,  that  provoke  an  equivocal  laugh  and  a  tap  of 
the  fan.  But  when  he  gets  among  young  company,  such  as 
Frank  Bracebridge,  the  Oxonian,  and  the  general,  he  is  apt  to 
put  on  the  mad  wag,  and  to  talk  in  a  very  bachelor-like  strain 
about  the  sex. 

In  this  he  has  been  encouraged  by  the  example  of  the  general, 
whom  he  looks  up  to  as  a  man  who  has  seen  the  world.  The 
general,  in -fact,  tells  shocking  stories  after  dinner,  when  the 
ladies  have  retired,  which  he  gives  as  some  of  the  choice  things 
that  are  served  up  at  the  MuUigatawney  club ;  a  knot  of  boon 
companions  in  London.  He  also  repeats  the  fat  jokes  of  old 
Major  Pendergast,  the  wit  of  the  club,  and  which,  though  the 
general  can  hardly  repeat  them  for  laughing,  always  make 
Mr.  Bracebridge  look  grave,  he  having  a  great  antipathy  to  an 
indecent  jest.  In  a  word,  the  general  is  a  complete  instance  of 
the  declension  in  gay  life,  by  which  a  young  man  of  pleasure  is 
apt  to  cool  down  into  an  obscene  old  gentleman. 

I  saw  him  and  Master  Simon,  an  evening  or  two  since,  con- 
versing with  a  buxom  milkmaid  in  a  meadow ;  and  from  their 
elbowing  each  other  now  and  then,  and  the  general's  shaking 
his  shoulders,  blowing  up  his  cheeks,  and  breaking  out  into  a 
short  fit  of  irrepressible  laughter,  I  had  no  doubt  they  were 
playing  the  mischief  with  the  girl. 

As  I  looked  at  them  through  a  hedge,  I  could  not  but  think 
they  would  have  made  a  tolerable  group  for  a  modern  picture 
of  Susannah  and  the  two  elders.  It  is  true,  the  girl  seemed  in 
nowise  alarmed  at  the  force  of  the  enemy ;  and  I  question,  had 
either  of  them  been  alone,  whether  she  would  not  have  been 


42  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

more  than  they  would  have  ventured  to  encounter.  Such  vete- 
ran roysters  are  daring  wags  when  together,  and  will  put  any 
female  to  the  blush  with  their  jokes ;  but  they  ai-e  as  quiet  as 
lambs  when  they  fall  singly  into  the  clutches  of  a  fine  woman. 

In  spite  of  the  general's  years,  he  evidently  is  a  little  vain  of 
his  person,  and  ambitious  of  conquests.  I  have  observed  him 
on  Sunday  in  church,  eyeing  the  country  girls  most  suspiciously ; 
and  have  seen  him  leer  upon  them  with  a  downright  amorous 
look,  even  when  he  has  been  gallanting  Lady  Lillycraft,  with 
great  ceremony,  through  the  church-yard.  The  general,  in 
fact,  is  a  veteran  in  the  service  of  Cupid,  rather  than  of  Mars, 
having  signalized  himself  in  all  the  garrison  towns  and  country 
quarters,  and  seen  service  in  every  ball-room  of  England.  Not 
a  celebrated  beauty  but  he  has  laid  siege  to;  and  if  his  word 
may  be  taken  in  a  matter  wherein  no  man  is  apt  to  be  over- 
veracious,  it  is  incredible  the  success  he  has  had  with  the  fair. 
At  present  he  is  like  a  worn-out  warrior,  retired  from  service ; 
but  who  still  cocks  his  beaver  with  a  military  air,  and  talks 
stoutly  of  fighting  whenever  he  comes  within  the  smell  of  gun- 
powder. 

I  have  heard  him  speak  his  mind  very  freely  over  his  bottle, 
about  the  folly  of  the  captain  in  taking  a  wife ;  as  he  thinks  a 
young  soldier  should  care  for  nothing  but  his  "  bottle  and  kind 
landlady."  But,  in  fact,  he  says  the  service  on  the  continent 
has  had  a  sad  effect  upon  the  young  men;  they  have  been 
ruined  by  light  wines  and  French  quadrilles.  "  They've  noth- 
ing," he  says,  "of  the  spirit  of  the  old  service.  There  are  none 
of  your  six-bottle  men  left,  that  were  the  souls  of  a  mess  dinner, 
and  used  to  play  the  very  deuce  among  the  women. " 

As  to  a  bachelor,  the  general  affirms  that  he  is  a  free  and  easy 
man,  with  no  baggage  to  take  care  of  but  his  portmanteau ;  but 
a  married  man,  with  his  wife  hanging  on  his  arm,  always  puts 
him  in  mind  of  a  chamber  candlestick,  with  its  extinguisher 
hitched  to  it.  I  should  not  mind  all  this,  if  it  were  merely  con- 
fined to  the  general ;  but  I  fear  he  will  be  the  ruin  of  my  friend, 
Master  Simon,  who  already  begins  to  echo  his  heresies,  and  to 
talk  in  the  style  of  a  gentleman  that  has  seen  life,  and  lived 
upon  the  town.  Indeed,  the  general  seems  to  have  taken 
Master  Simon  in  hand,  and  talks  of  showing  him  the  lions 
when  he  comes  to  town,  and  of  introducing  him  to  a  knot  of 
choice  spirits  at  the  Mulligatawney  club;  which,  I  understand, 
is  composed  of  old  nabobs,  officers  in  the  Company's  employ,  and 
other  "men  of  Ind,"  that  have  seen  service  in  the  East,  and 


WIVES.  43 

returned  home  burnt  out  with  curry,  and  touched  with  the 
liver  complaint.  They  have  their  regular  club,  where  they  eat 
Mulligatawney  soup,  smoke  the  hookah,  talk  about  Tippoo 
Saib,  Seringapatam,  and  tiger-hunting;  and  are  tediously 
agreeable  in  each  other's  company. 


WIVES. 

Believe  me,  man,  there  is  no  greater  bliase 

Than  is  the  quiet  joy  of  loving  wife; 

Which  whoso  wants,  half  of  himselfe  doth  tnisse. 

Friend  without  change,  playfellow  without  strife, 

Food  without  fulnesse,  counsaile  without  pride, 

Is  this  sweet  doubling  of  our  single  life. — SIR  P.  SIDNEY. 

THERE  is  so  much  talk  about  matrimony  going  on  around  me, 
in  consequence  of  the  approaching  event  for  which  we  are  as- 
sembled at  the  Hall,  that  I  confess  I  find  my  thoughts  singularly 
exercised  on  the  subject.  Indeed,  all  the  bachelors  of  the 
establishment  seem  to  be  passing  through  a  kind  of  fiery 
ordeal ;  for  Lady  Lillycraf t  is  one  of  those  tender,  romance- 
read  dames  of  the  old  school,  whose  mind  is  filled  with  flames 
and  darts,  and  who  breathe  nothing  but  constancy  and  wedlock. 
She  is  for  ever  immersed  in  the  concerns  of  the  heart ;  and,  to 
use  a  poetical  phrase,  is  perfectly  surrounded  by  ' '  the  purple 
light  of  love."  The  very  general  seems  to  feel  the  influence  of 
this  sentimental  atmosphere;  to  melt  as  he  approaches  her 
ladyship,  and,  for  the  time,  to  forget  all  his  heresies  about 
matrimony  and  the  sex. 

The  good  lady  is  generally  surrounded  by  little  documents  of 
her  prevalent  taste ;  novels  of  a  tender  nature ;  richly  bound 
little  books  of  poetry,  that  are  filled  with  sonnets  and  love 
tales,  and  perfumed  with  rose-leaves ;  and  she  has  always  an 
album  at  hand,  for  which  she  claims  the  contributions  of  all 
her  friends.  On  looking  over  this  last  repository,  the  other 
day,  I  found  a  series  of  poetical  extracts,  in  the  Squire's  hand' 
writing,  which  might  have  been  intended  as  matrimonial  hints 
to  his  ward.  I  was  so  much  struck  with  several  of  them,  that 
I  took  the  liberty  of  copying  them  out.  They  are  from  the  old 
play  of  Thomas  Davenport,  published  in  1661,  entitled  "The 
City  Night-Cap ;"  in  which  is  drawn  out  and  exemplified,  in 
the  part  of  Abstemia,  the  character  of  a  patient  and  faithful 


44  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

•wife,  which,  I  think,  might  vie  with  that  of  the  renowned 
Griselda. 

I  have  often  thought  it  a  pity  that  plays  and  novels  should 
always  end  at  the  wedding,  and  should  not  give  us  another  act, 
and  another  volume,  to  let  us  know  how  the  hero  and  heroine 
conducted  themselves  when  married.  Their  mam  object  seems 
to  be  merely  to  instruct  young  ladies  how  to  get  husbands,  but 
not  how  to  keep  them :  now  this  last,  I  speak  it  with  all  due 
diffidence,  appears  to  me  to  be  a  desideratum  in  modern  mar- 
ried life.  It  is  appalling  to  those  who  have  not  yet  adventured 
into  the  holy  state,  to  see  how  soon  the  flame  of  romantic  love 
burns  out,  or  rather  is  quenched  in  matrimony;  and  how 
deplorably  the  passionate,  poetic  lover  declines  into  the  phleg- 
matic, prosaic  husband.  I  am  inclined  to  attribute  this  very 
much  to  the  defect  just  mentioned  in  the  plays  and  novels, 
which  form  so  important  a  branch  of  study  of  our  young  ladies; 
and  which  teach  them  how  to  be  heroines,  but  leave  them 
totally  at  a  loss  when  they  come  to  be  wives.  The  play  from 
which  the  quotations  before  me  were  made,  however,  is  an  ex- 
ception to  this  remark ;  and  I  cannot  refuse  myself  the  pleasure 
of  adducing  some  of  them  for  the  benefit  of  the  reader,  and  for 
the  honour  of  an  old  writer,  who  has  bravely  attempted  to 
awaken  dramatic  interest  in  favour  of  a  woman,  even  after  she 
was  married! 

The  f ollcwiug  is  a  commendation  of  Abstemia  to  her  husband 
Lorenzo: 

She's  modest,  but  not  sullen,  and  loves  silence; 

Not  that  she  wants  apt  words,  (for  when  she  speaks, 

She  inflames  love  with  wonder,)  but  because 

She  calls  wise  silence  the  soul's  harmony. 

She's  truly  chaste;  yet  such  a  foe  to  coyness, 

The  poorest  call  her  courteous;  and  which  is  excellent! 

(Though  fair  and  young)  she  shuns  to  expose  herself 

To  the  opinion  of  strange  eyes.    She  either  seldom 

Or  never  walks  abroad  but  in  your  company, 

And  then  with  such  sweet  bashfulness,  as  if 

She  were  venturing  on  crack'd  ice,  and  takes  delight 

To  step  into  the  print  your  foot  hath  made. 

And  will  follow  you  whole  fields;  so  she  will  drive 

Tediousness  out  of  time,  with  her  sweet  character. 

Notwithstanding  all  this  excellence,  Abstemia  has  the  mis- 
fortune to  incur  the  unmerited  jealousy  of  her  husband.  In- 
stead, however,  of  resenting  his  harsh  treatment  with  clamor- 
ous upbraidings,  and  with  the  stormy  violence  of  high,  windy 
virtue,  by  which  the  sparks  of  anger  are  so  often  blown  into  a 


WIVES.  45 

she  endures  it  with  the  meekness  of  conscious,  but 
patient,  virtue ;  and  makes  the  following  beautiful  appeal  to  a 
friend  who  has  witnessed  her  long  suffering: 

Hast  thou  not  seen  me 

Bear  all  his  injuries,  as  the  ocean  suffers 

The  angry  bark  to  plough  through  her  bosom, 

And  yet  is  presently  so  smooth,  the  eye 

Cannot  perceive  where  the  wide  wound  was  made? 

Lorenzo,  being  wrought  on  by  false  representations,  at  length 
repudiates  her.  To  the  last,  however,  she  maintains  her 
patient  sweetness,  and  her  love  for  him,  in  spite  of  his  cruelty. 
She  deplores  his  error,  even  more  than  his  unkindness;  and 
laments  the  delusion  which  has  turned  his  very  affection  into 
a  source  of  bitterness.  There  is  a  moving  pathos  in  her  parting 
address  to  Lorenzo,  after  their  divorce: 

Farewell,  Lorenzo, 

Whom  my  soul  doth  love:  if  you  e'er  many, 
May  you  meet  a  good  wife;  so  good,  that  you 
May  not  suspect  her,  nor  may  she  be  worthy 
Of  your  suspicion ;  and  if  you  hear  hereafter 
That  I  am  dead,  inquire  but  my  last  words, 
And  you  shall  know  that  to  the  last  I  lov'd  you. 
And  when  you  walk  forth  with  your  second  choict* 
Into  the  pleasant  fields,  and  by  chance  talk  of  me, 
Imagine  that  you  see  me,  lean  and  pale, 

Strewing  your  path  with  flowers. 

But  may  she  never  live  to  pay  my  debts:  (weept) 

If  but  in  thought  she  wrong  you,  may  she  die 

In  the  conception  of  the  injury. 

Pray  make  me  wealthy  with  one  kiss:  farewell,  sir: 

Let  it  not  grieve  you  when  you  shall  remember 

That  I  was  innocent:  nor  this  forget, 

Though  innocence  here  suffer,  sigh,  and  groan, 

She  walks  but  thorow  thorns  to  find  a  throne. 

In  a  short  time  Lorenzo  discovers  his  error,  and  the  inno- 
cence of  his  injured  wife.  In  the  transports  of  his  repentance, 
he  calls  to  mind  all  her  feminine  excellence ;  her  gentle,  uncom- 
plaining, womanly  fortitude  under  wrongs  and  sorrows: 

Oh,  Abstemial 

How  lovely  thou  lookest  now !  now  thou  appearesfc 

Chaster  than  is  the  morning's  modesty 

That  rises  with  a  blush,  over  whose  bosom 

The  western  wind  creeps  softly;  now  I  remember 

How,  when  she  sat  at  table,  her  obedient  eye 

Would  dwell  on  mine,  as  if  it  were  not  well, 

Unless  it  look'd  where  I  look'd:  oh  how  proud 

She  was,  when  she  could  cross  herself  to  please  met 

But  where  now  is  this  fair  soul  ?    Like  a  silver  cloud 

She  hath  wept  herself,  I  fear,  into  the  dead  sea. 

And  will  be  found  no  more, 


4g  BEACEEEIDOE  HALL. 

It  is  but  doing  right  by  the  reader,  if  interested  in  the  fate  of 
Abstemia  by  the  preceding  extracts,  to  say,  that  she  was  re- 
stored to  the  arms  and  affections  of  her  husband,  rendered 
fonder  than  ever,  by  that  disposition  hi  every  good  heart,  to 
atone  for  past  injustice,  by  an  overflowing  measure  of  return- 
ing kindness : 

Thou  wealth,  worth  more  than  kingdoms;  I  am  now 

Confirmed  past  all  suspicion ;  thou  art  far 

Sweeter  in  thy  sincere  truth  than  a  sacrifice 

Deck'd  up  for  death  with  garlands.    The  Indian  winds 

That  blow  from  off  the  coast  and  cheer  the  sailor 

With  the  sweet  savour  of  their  spices,  want 

The  delight  flows  In  thee. 

I  have  been  more  affected  and  interested  by  this  little  drama- 
tic picture,  than  by  many  a  popular  love  tale;  though,  as  I 
said  before,  I  do  not  think  it  likely  either  Abstemia  or  patient 
Grizzle  stand  much  chance  of  being  taken  for  a  model.  Still  I 
like  to  see  poetry  now  and  then  extending  its  views  beyond  the 
wedding-day,  and  teaching  a  lady  how  to  make  herself  attrac- 
tive even  after  marriage.  There  is  no  great  need  of  enforcing 
on  an  unmarried  lady  the  necessity  of  being  agreeable ;  nor  is 
there  any  great  art  requisite  in  a  youthful  beauty  to  enable  her 
to  please.  Nature  has  multiplied  attractions  around  her. 
Youth  is  in  itself  attractive.  The  freshness  of  budding  beauty 
needs  no  foreign  aid  to  set  it  off;  it  pleases  merely  because  it  is 
fresh,  and  budding,  and  beautiful.  But  it  is  for  the  married 
state  that  a  woman  needs  the  most  instruction,  and  hi  which 
she  should  be  most  on  her  guard  to  maintain  her  powers  of 
pleasing.  No  woman  can  expect  to  be  to  her  husband  all  that 
he  fancied  her  when  he  was  a  lover.  Men  are  always  doomed 
to  be  duped,  not  so  much  by  the  arts  of  the  sex,  as  by  their  own 
imaginations.  They  are  always  wooing  goddesses,  and  marry- 
ing mere  mortals.  A  woman  should,  therefore,  ascertain  what 
was  the  charm  that  rendered  her  so  fascinating  when  a  girl, 
and  endeavour  to  keep  it  up  when  she  has  become  a  wife.  One 
great  thing  undoubtedly  was,  the  chariness  of  herself  and  her 
conduct,  which  an  unmarried  female  always  observes.  She 
should  maintain  the  same  niceness  and  reserve  in  her  person 
and  habits,  and  endeavour  still  to  preserve  a  freshness  and 
virgin  delicacy  in  the  eye  of  her  husband.  She  should  remem- 
ber that  the  province  of  woman  is  to  be  wooed,  not  to  woo ;  to 
be  caressed,  not  to  caress.  Han  is  an  ungrateful  being  hi  love-, 
bounty  loses  instead  of  winning  him.  The  secret  of  a  woman's 
power  does  not  consist  so  much  in  giving,  as  \n  withholding. 


STORY  TELLING.  47 

A  woman  may  give  up  too  much  even  to  her  husband.  It  is  to 
a  thousand  little  delicacies  of  conduct  that  she  must  trust  to 
keep  alive  passion,  and  to  protect  herself  from  that  dangerous 
familiarity,  that  thorough  acquaintance  with  every  weakness 
and  imperfection  incident  to  matrimony.  By  these  means  she 
may  still  maintain  her  power,  though  she  has  surrendered  her 
person,  and  may  continue  the  romance  of  love  even  beyond  the 
honeymoon. 

"She  that  hath  a  wise  husband,"  says  Jeremy  Taylor, 
"must  entice  him  to  an  eternal  dearnesse  by  the  veil  of  mod- 
esty, and  the  grave  robes  of  chastity,  the  ornament  of  meek- 
ness, and  the  jewels  of  faith  and  charity.  She  must  have  no 
painting  but  blushings ;  her  brightness  must  be  purity,  and  she 
must  shine  round  about  with  sweetness  and  friendship;  and 
she  shall  be  pleasant  while  she  lives,  and  desired  when  she 
dies.' 

I  have  wandered  into  a  rambling  series  of  remarks  on  a  trite 
subject,  an:'  a  dangerous  one  for  a  bachelor  to  meddle  with. 
That  I  may  not,  however,  appear  to  confine  my  observations 
entirely  to  the  wife,  I  will  conclude  with  another  quotation 
from  Jeremy  Taylor,  in  which  the  duties  of  both  parties  are 
mentioned ;  while  I  would  recommend  his  sermon  on  the  mar- 
riage-ring to  all  those  who,  wiser  than  myself,  are  about 
entering  the  happy  state  of  wedlock. 

"There  is  scarce  any  matter  of  duty  but  it  concerns  them 
both  alike,  and  is  only  distinguished  by  names,  and  hath  its 
variety  by  circumstances  and  little  accidents :  and  what  in  one 
is  called  love,  in  the  other  is  called  reverence ;  and  what  in  the 
wife  is  obedience,  the  same  in  the  man  is  duty.  He  provides, 
and  she  dispenses ;  he  gives  commandments,  and  she  rules  by 
them ;  he  rules  her  by  authority,  and  she  rules  him  by  love ; 
she  ought  by  all  means  to  please  him,  and  he  must  by  no 
means  displease  her." 


STORY  TELLING. 

A  FAVOURITE  evening  pastime  at  the  Hall,  and  one  which  the 
worthy  Squire  is  fond  of  promoting,  is  story  telling,  "a  good, 
old-fashioned  fire-side  amusement,"  as  he  terms  it.  Indeed, 
I  believe  he  promotes  it,  chiefly,  because  it  was  one  of  the 
choice  recreations  in  those  days  of  yore,  when  ladies  and  gen* 


48  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

tleinen  were  not  much  in  the  habit  of  reading.  Be  this  as  it 
may,  he  will  often,  at  supper-table,  when  conversation  flags, 
call  on  some  one  or  other  of  the  company  for  a  story,  as  it  was 
formerly  the  custom  to  call  for  a  song;  and  it  is  edifying  to  see 
the  exemplary  patience,  and  even  satisfaction,  with  which  the 
good  old  gentleman  will  sit  and  listen  to  some  hackneyed  tale 
that  he  has  heard  for  at  least  a  hundred  times. 

In  this  way,  one  evening,  the  current  of  anecdotes  and  stories 
ran  upon  mysterious  personages  that  have  figured  at  different 
times,  and  filled  the  world  with  doubt  and  conjecture ;  such  as 
the  Wandering  Jew,  the  Man  with  the  Iron  Mask,  who  tor- 
mented the  curiosity  of  all  Europe ;  the  Invisible  Girl,  and  last, 
though  not  least,  the  Pig-faced  Lady. 

At  length,  one  of  the  company  was  called  upon  that  had  the 
most  unpromising  physiognomy  for  a  story  teller,  that  ever 
I  had  seen.  He  was  a  thin,  pale,  weazen-faced  man,  extremely 
nervous,  that  had  sat  at  one  corner  of  the  table,  shrunk  up,  as 
it  were,  into  himself,  and  almost  swallowed  up  in  the  cape  of 
his  coat,  as  a  turtle  in  its  shell. 

The  very  demand  seemed  to  throw  him  into  a  nervons  agita- 
tion ;  yet  he  did  not  refuse.  He  emerged  his  head  out  of  his 
shell,  made  a  few  odd  grimaces  and  gesticulations,  before  he 
could  get  his  muscles  into  order,  or  his  voice  under  command, 
and  then  offered  to  give  some  account  of  a  mysterious  person- 
age that  he  had  recently  encountered  in  the  course  of  his  trav- 
els, and  one  whom  he  thought  fully  entitled  to  being  classed 
with  the  Man  with  the  Iron  Mask. 

I  was  so  much  struck  with  his  extraordinary  narrative,  that 
I  have  written  it  out  to  the  best  of  my  recollection,  for  the 
amusement  of  the  reader.  I  think  it  has  hi  it  all  the  elements 
of  that  mysterious  and  romantic  narrative,  so  greedily  sought 
after  at  the  present  day. 


THE  STOUT  GENTLEMAN. 

A  STAGE-COACH  ROMANCE. 
"  I'll  cross  it,  though  it  blast  me!"— Hamlet. 

IT  was  a  rainy  Sunday,  in  the  gloomy  month  of  November. 
E  had  been  detained,  in  the  course  of  a  journey,  by  a  slight 
indisposition,  from  which  I  was  recovering:  but  I  was  still 


TEE  STOUT  GENTLEMAN.  49 

feverish,  and  was  obliged  to  keep  within  doors  all  day,  in  an  inn 
of  the  small  town  of  Derby.  A  wet  Sunday  in  a  country  inn ! 
— whoever  has  had  the  luck  to  experience  one  can  alone  judge 
of  my  situation.  The  rain  pattered  against  the  casements ;  the 
bells  tolled  for  church  with  a  melancholy  sound.  I  went  to 
the  windows,  in  quest  of  something  to  amuse  the  eye ;  but  it 
seemed  as  if  I  had  been  placed  completely  out  of  the  reach  of 
all  amusement.  The  windows  of  my  bed-room  looked  out 
among  tiled  roofs  and  stacks  of  chimneys,  while  those  of  my 
sitting-room  commanded  a  full  view  of  the  stable-yard.  I 
know  of  nothing  more  calculated  to  make  a  man  sick  of 
this  world,  than  a  stable-yard  on  a  rainy  day.  The  place  was 
littered  with  wet  straw,  that  had  been  kicked  about  by  travel- 
lers and  stable-boys.  In  one  corner  was  a  stagnant  pool  of 
water,  surrounding  an  island  of  muck;  there  were  several 
half -drowned  fowls  crowded  together  under  a  cart,  among 
which  was  a  miserable,  crest-fallen  cock,  drenched  out  of  all 
lif  e  and  spirit ;  his  drooping  tail  matted,  as  it  were,  into  a  sin- 
gle feather,  along  which  the  water  trickled  from  his  back ;  near 
the  cart  was  a  half -dozing  cow  chewing  the  cud,  and  standing 
patiently  to  be  rained  on,  with  wreaths  of  vapor  rising  from 
her  reeking  hide ;  a  wall-eyed  horse,  tired  of  the  loneliness  of 
the  stable,  was  poking  his  spectral  head  out  of  the  window, 
with  the  rain  dripping  on  it  from  the  eaves ;  an  unhappy  cur, 
chained  to  a  dog-house  hard  by,  uttered  something  every  now 
and  then,  between  a  bark  and  a  yelp;  a  drab  of  a  kitchen- 
wench  tramped  backwards  and  forwards  through  the  yard  in 
pattens,  looking  as  sulky  as  the  weather  itself ;  every  thing,  in 
short,  was  comfortless  and  forlorn,  excepting  a  crew  of  hard- 
drinking  ducks,  assembled  like  boon  companions  round  a  pud- 
dle, and  making  a  riotous  noise  over  their  liquor. 

I  was  lonely  and  listless,  and  wanted  amusement.  My  room 
soon  became  insupportable.  I  abandoned  it,  and  sought  what 
is  technically  called  the  travellers'-room.  This  is  a  public 
room  set  apart  at  most  inns  for  the  accommodation  of  a  class 
of  wayfarers  called  travellers,  or  riders ;  a  kind  of  commercial 
knights-errant,  who  are  incessantly  scouring  the  kingdom  in 
gigs,  on  horseback,  or  by  coach.  They  are  the  only  successors 
that  I  know  of,  at  the  present  day,  to  the  knights-errant  of 
yore.  They  lead  the  same  kind  of  roving  adventurous  life,  only 
changing  the  lance  for  a  driving- whip,  the  buckler  for  a  pat- 
tern-card, and  the  coat  of  mail  for  an  upper  Benjamin.  Instead 
of  vindicating  the  charms  of  peerless  beauty,  they  rove  about. 


50  BSACES RIDGE  HALL. 

spreading  the  fame  and  standing  of  some  substantial  trades- 
man or  manufacturer,  and  are  ready  at  any  time  to  bargain  in 
his  name ;  it  being  the  fashion  now-a-days  to  trade,  instead  of 
fight,  with  one  another.  As  the  room  of  the  hotel,  in  the  good 
old  fighting  times,  would  be  hung  round  at  night  with  the 
armour  of  wayworn  warriors,  such  as  coats  of  mail,  falchions, 
and  yawning  helmets;  so  the  travellers'-room  is  garnished 
with  the  harnessing  of  their  successors,  with  box-coats,  whips 
of  all  kinds,  spurs,  gaiters,  and  oil-cloth  covered  hats. 

I  was  in  hopes  of  finding  some  of  these  worthies  to  talk  with, 
but  was  disappointed.  There  were,  indeed,  two  or  three  in  the 
room ;  but  I  could  make  nothing  of  them.  One  was  just  fin- 
ishing his  breakfast,  quarrelling  with  his  bread  and  butter,  and 
huffing  the  waiter;  another  buttoned  on  a  pair  of  gaiters,  with 
many  execrations  at  Boots  for  not  having  cleaned  his  shoes 
well;  a  third  sat  drumming  on  the  table  with  Ins  fingers,  and 
looking  at  the  rain  as  it  streamed  down  the  window-glass ;  they 
all  appeared  infected  by  the  weather,  and  disappeared,  one 
after  the  other,  without  exchanging  a  word. 

I  sauntered  to  the  window,  and  stood  gazing  at  the  people 
picking  their  way  to  church,  with  petticoats  hoisted  mid-l^g 
high,  and  dripping  umbrellas.  The  bell  ceased  to  toll,  and  the 
streets  became  silent.  I  then  amused  myself  with  watching 
the  daughters  of  a  tradesman  opposite ;  who,  being  confined  to 
the  house  for  fear  of  wetting  their  Sunday  finery,  played  off 
their  charms  at  the  front  windows,  to  fascinate  the  chance 
tenants  of  the  inn.  They  at  length  were  summoned  away  by  a 
vigilant  vinegar-faced  mother,  and  I  had  nothing  further  from 
without  to  amuse  me. 

What  was  I  to  do  to  pass  away  the  long-lived  day?  I  was 
sadly  nervous  and  lonely ;  and  every  thing  about  an  inn  seems 
calculated  to  make  a  dull  day  ten  times  duller.  Old  news- 
papers, smelling  of  beer  and  tobacco-smoke,  and  which  I  had 
already  read  half-a-dozen  times — good-for-nothing  books,  that 
were  worse  than  rainy  weather.  I  bored  myself  to  death  with 
an  old  volume  of  the  Lady's  Magazine.  I  read  all  the  common- 
placed names  of  ambitious  travellers  scrawled  on  the  panes  of 
glass ;  the  eternal  families  of  the  Smiths,  and  the  Browns,  and 
the  Jacksons,  and  the  Johnsons,  and  all  the  other  sons ;  and  I 
deciphered  several  scraps  of  fatiguing  inn- window  poetry  whip'd 
I  have  met  with  in  all  parts  of  the  world. 

The  day  continued  lowering  and  gloomy;  the  slovenly, 
ragged,  spongy  clouds  drifted  heavily  alDng;  there 


THE  STOUT  GENTLEMAN.  51 

variety  even  in  the  rain:  it  was  one  dull,  continued,  monoto- 
nous patter — patter — patter,  excepting  that  now  and  then  I  was 
enlivened  by  the  idea  of  a  brisk  shov/er,  from  the  rattling  of 
the  drops  upon  a  passing  umbrella. 

It  was  quite  refreshing  (if  I  may  be  allowed  a  hackneyed 
phrase  of  the  day)  when,  in  the  course  of  the  morning,  a  horn 
blew,  and  a  stage-coach  whirled  through  the  street,  with  out- 
side passengers  stuck  all  over  it,  cowering  under  cotton  um- 
brellas, and  seethed  together,  and  reeking  with  the  steams  of 
wet  box-coats  and  upper  Benjamins. 

The  sound  brought  out  from  their  lurking-places  a  crew  of 
vagabond  boys,  and  vagabond  dogs,  and  the  carroty-headed 
hostler,  and  that  nondescript  animal  ycleped  Boots,  and  all  the 
other  vagabond  race  that  infest  the  purlieus  of  an  inn ;  but  the 
bustle  was  transient ;  the  coach  again  whirled  on  its  way ;  and 
boy  and  dog,  and  hostler  and  Boots,  all  slunk  back  again  to 
their  holes ;  the  street  again  became  silent,  and  the  rain  con- 
tinued to  rain  on.  In  fact,  there  was  no  hope  of  its  clearing 
up;  the  barometer  pointed  to  rainy  weather;  mine  hostess' 
tortoise-shell  cat  sat  by  the  fire  washing  her  face,  and  rubbing 
her  paws  over  her  ears ;  and,  on  referring  to  the  almanac,  I 
found  a  direful  prediction  stretching  from  the  top  of  the  page 
to  the  bottom  through  the  wh<  He  month,  "  expect — much — rain 
— about — this — time. " 

I  was  dreadfully  hipped.  The  hours  seemed  as  if  they  would 
never  creep  by.  The  very  ticking  of  the  clock  became  irk- 
some. At  length  the  stillness  of  the  house  was  interrupted  by 
the  ringing  of  a  bell.  Shortly  after,  I  heard  the  voice  of  a 
waiter  at  the  bar :  ' '  The  stout  gentleman  in  No.  13  wants  hia 
breakfast.  Tea  and  bread  and  butter  with  ham  and  eggs;  the 
eggs  not  to  be  too  much  done." 

In  such  a  situation  as  mine,  every  incident  is  of  importance. 
Here  was  a  subject  of  speculation  presented  to  my  mind,  and 
ample  exercise  for  my  imagination.  I  am  prone  to  paint  pic- 
tures to  myself,  and  on  this  occasion  I  had  some  materials  to 
work  upon.  Had  the  guest  up-stairs  been  mentioned  as  Mr. 
Smith,  or  Mr.  Brown,  or  Mr.  Jackson,  or  Mr.  Johnson,  or 
merely  as  "the  gentleman  in  No.  13,"  it  would  have  been  a 
perfect  blank  to  me.  I  should  have  thought  nothing  of  it ;  but 
"The  stout  gentleman !"— the  very  name  had  something  in  it 
of  the  picturesque.  It  at  once  gave  the  size ;  it  embodied  the 
personage  to  my  mind's  eye,  and  my  fancy  did  the  rest. 

He  was  stout,  or,  as  some  term  it,  lusty ;  in  all  probability, 


52  BHACEBETDGE  BALL. 

therefore,  he  was  advanced  in  life,  some  people  expanding  as 
they  grow  old.  By  his  breakfasting  rather  late,  and  in  his 
own  room,  he  must  be  a  man  accustomed  to  live  at  his  ease, 
and  above  the  necessity  of  early  rising ;  no  doubt  a  round,  rosy, 
lusty  old  gentleman. 

There  was  another  violent  ringing.  The  stout  gentleman 
was  impatient  for  his  breakfast.  He  was  evidently  a  man  of 
importance;  "well-to-do  in  the  world;"  accustomed  to  be 
promptly  waited  upon;  of  a  keen  appetite,  and  a  little  cross 
when  hungry;  "perhaps," thought  I,  "he  maybe  some  Lon- 
don Alderman;  or  who  knows  but  he  may  be  a  Member  of 
Parliament?" 

The  breakfast  was  sent  up  and  there  was  a  short  interval  of 
silence;  he  was,  doubtless,  making  the  tea.  Presently  there 
was  a  violent  ringing,  and  before  it  could  be  answered,  another 
ringing  still  more  violent.  "  Bless  me  !  what  a  choleric  old 
gentleman  ! "  The  waiter  came  down  in  a  huff.  The  butter 
was  rancid,  the  eggs  were  overdone,  the  ham  was  too  salt : — 
the  stout  gentleman  was  evidently  nice  in  his  eating  ;  one  of 
those  who  eat  and  growl,  and  keep  the  waiter  on  the  trot,  and 
live  in  a  state  militant  with  the  household. 

The  hostess  got  into  a  fume.  I  should  observe  that  she  was 
a  brisk,  coquettish  woman  ;  a  little  of  a  shrew,  and  something 
of  a  slammerkin,  but  very  pretty  withal ;  with  a  nincompoop 
for  a  husband,  as  shrews  are  apt  to  have.  She  rated  the  ser- 
vants roundly  for  their  negligence  in  sending  up  so  bad  a 
breakfast,  but  said  not  a  word  against  the  stout  gentleman  ;  by 
which  I  clearly  perceived  that  he  must  be  a  man  of  conse- 
quence, entitled  to  make  a  noise  and  to  give  trouble  at  a  coun- 
try inn.  Other  eggs,  and  ham,  and  bread  and  butter,  were 
sent  up.  They  appeared  to  be  more  graciously  received  ;  at 
(east  there  was  no  further  complaint. 

I  had  not  made  many  turns  about  the  travellers'-room,  when 
there  was  another  ringing.  Shortly  afterwards  there  was  a 
stir  and  an  inquest  about  the  house.  The  stout  gentleman 
wanted  the  Times  or  the  Chronicle  newspaper.  I  set  him 
down,  therefore,  for  a  whig  ;  or  rather,  from  his  being  so  ab- 
solute and  lordly  where  he  had  a  chance,  I  suspected  him  of 
being  a  radical.  Hunt,  I  had  heard,  was  a  large  man  ;  "  who 
knows,"  thought  I,  "  but  it  is  Hunt  himself  ! " 

My  curiosity  began  to  be  awakened.  I  inquired  of  the  waiter 
who  was  this  stout  gentleman  that  was  making  all  this  stir  ; 
but  I  could  get  no  information  :  nobody  seemed  to  know  his 


THE  STOUT  GENTLEMAN.        .  53 

name.  The  landlords  of  bustling  inns  seldom  trouble  their 
J leads  about  the  names  or  occupations  of  their  transient  guests. 
The  colour  of  a  coat,  the  shape  or  size  of  the  person,  is  enough  to 
suggest  a  travelling  name.  It  is  either  the  tall  gentleman,  or 
the  short  gentleman,  or  the  gentleman  in  black,  or  the  gentle- 
man in  snuff-colour ;  or,  as  in  the  present  instance,  the  stout 
gentleman.  A  designation  of  the  kind  once  hit  on  answers 
every  purpose,  and  saves  all  further  inquiry. 

Rain — rain — rain !  pitiless,  ceaseless  rain !  No  such  thing  as 
putting  a  foot  out  of  doors,  and  no  occupation  nor  amusement 
within.  By  and  by  I  heard  some  one  walking  overhead.  It 
was  in  the  stout  gentleman's  room.  He  evidently  was  a  large 
man,  by  the  heaviness  of  his  tread ;  and  an  old  man,  from  his 
wearing  such  creaking  soles.  "He  is  doubtless,"  thought  I, 
"  some  rich  old  square-toes,  of  regular  habits,  and  is  now  tak- 
ing exercise  after  breakfast." 

I  now  read  all  the  advertisements  of  coaches  and  hotels  that 
were  stuck  about  the  mantel-piece.  The  Lady's  Magazine  had 
become  an  abomination  to  me ;  it  was  as  tedious  as  the  day  it- 
self. I  wandered  out,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  and  ascended 
again  to  my  room.  I  had  not  been  there  long,  when  there  was 
a  squall  from  a  neighbouring  bed-room.  A  door  opened  and 
slammed  violently ;  a  chamber-maid,  that  I  had  remarked  for 
having  a  ruddy,  good-humoured  face,  went  down-stairs  in  a 
violent  flurry.  The  stout  gentleman  had  been  rude  to  her. 

This  sent  a  whole  host  of  my  deductions  to  the  deuce  in  a 
moment.  This  unknown  personage  could  not  be  an  old  gentle- 
man ;  for  old  gentlemen  are  not  apt  to  be  so  obstreperous  to 
chamber-maids.  He  could  not  be  a  young  gentleman;  for 
young  gentlemen  are  not  apt  to  inspire  such  indignation.  He 
must  be  a  middle-aged  man,  and  confounded  ugly  into  the 
bargain,  or  the  girl  would  not  have  taken  the  matter  in  such 
terrible  dudgeon.  I  confess  I  was  sorely  puzzled. 

In  a  few  minutes  I  heard  the  voice  of  my  landlady.  I  caught 
a  glance  of  her  as  she  came  tramping  up-stairs;  her  face 
glowing,  her  cap  flaring,  her  tongue  wagging  the  whole  way. 
' '  She'd  have  no  such  doings  in  her  house,  she'd  warrant  1  If 
gentlemen  did  spend  money  freely,  it  was  no  rule.  She'd  have 
no  servant  maids  of  hers  treated  in  that  way,  when  they  were 
about  their  work,  that's  what  she  wouldn't  1" 

As  I  hate  squabbles,  particularly  with  women,  and  above  all 
with  pretty  women,  I  slunk  back  into  my  room,  and  partly 
closed  the  door;  but  my  curiosity  was  too  much,  excited  not  to 


54  BBACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

listen.  The  landlady  marched  intrepidly  to  the  enemy's  cita- 
del, and  entered  it  with  a  storm :  the  door  closed  after  her.  I 
heard  her  voice  in  high  windy  clamour  for  a  moment  or  two. 
Then  it  gradually  subsided,  like  a  gust  of  wind  in  a  garret; 
then  there  was  a  laugh ;  then  I  heard  nothing  more. 

After  a  little  while,  my  landlady  came  out  with  an  odd  smilo. 
on  her  face,  adjusting  her  cap,  which  was  a  little  on  one  bide  | 
As  she  went  down-stairs,  I  heard  the  landlord  ask  her  what; 
was  the  matter;  she  said,  "Nothing  at  all,  only  the  girl's  a 
fool. " — I  was  more  than  ever  perplexed  what  to  make  of  this 
unaccountable  personage,  who  could  put  a  good-natured  cham- 
ber-maid in  a  passion,  and  send  away  a  termagant  landlady  in 
smiles.  He  could  not  be  so  old,  nor  cross,  nor  ugly  either. 

I  had  to  go  to  work  at  his  picture  again,  and  to  paint  him 
entirely  different.  I  now  set  him  down  for  one  of  those  stout 
gentlemen  that  are  frequently  met  with,  swaggering  about  the 
doors  of  country  inns.  Moist,  merry  fellows,  in  Belcher  hand- 
kerchiefs, whose  bulk  is  a  little  assisted  by  malt  liquors.  Men 
who  have  seen  the  world,  and  been  sworn  at  Highgate ;  who 
are  used  to  tavern  life ;  up  to  all  the  tricks  of  tapsters,  and 
knowing  in  the  ways  of  sinful  publicans.  Free-livers  on  a 
small  scale ;  who  are  prodigal  within  the  compass  of  a  guinea ; 
who  call  all  the  waiters  by  name,  touzle  the  maids,  gossip  with 
the  landlady  at  the  bar,  and  prose  over  a  pint  of  port,  or  a 
glass  of  negus,  after  dinner. 

The  morning  wore  away  in  forming  of  these  and  similar 
surmises.  As  fast  as  I  wove  one  system  of  belief,  some  move- 
ment of  the  unknown  would  completely  overturn  it,  and  throw 
all  my  thoughts  again  into  confusion.  Such  are  the  solitary 
operations  of  a  feverish  mind.  I  was,  as  I  have  said,  extremely 
nervous;  and  the  continual  meditation  on  the  concerns  of  this 
invisible  personage  began  to  have  its  effect : — I  was  getting  a 
fit  of  the  fidgets.  \ 

Dinner-time  came.  I  hoped  the  stout  gentleman  might  dine 
in  the  travellers'-room,  and  that  I  might  at  length  get  a  view 
of  his  person ;  but  no— he  had  dinner  served  in  his  own  room. 
What  could  be  the  meaning  of  this  solitude  and  mystery?  He 
could  not  be  a  radical ;  there  was  something  too  aristocratical 
in  thus  keeping  himself  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  and 
condemning  himself  to  his  own  dull  company  throughout  a 
rainy  day.  And  then,  too,  he  lived  too  well  for  a  discontented 
politician.  He  seemed  to  expatiate  on  a  variety  of  dishes,  and 
to  sit  over  his  wine  like  a  jolly  fiiend  of  good  living.  Indeed, 


THE  STOUT  GENTLEMAN.  55 

my  doubts  on  this  head  were  soon  at  an  end ;  for  he  could  not 
have  finished  his  first  bottle  before  I  could  faintly  hear  him 
humming  a  tune ;  and  on  listening,  I  found  it  to  be  "God  save 
the  King."  'Twas  plain,  then,  he  was  no  radical,  but  a  faith- 
ful subject;  one  that  grew  loyal  over  his  bottle,  and  was  ready 
to  stand  by  king  and  constitution,  when  he  could  stand  by 
nothing  else.  But  who  could  he  be?  My  conjectures  began  to 
jrun  wild.  Was  he  not  some  personage  of  distinction,  travel- 
ling incog.  ?  "  God  knows !"  said  I,  at  my  wit's  end ;  "  it  may 
be  one  of  the  royal  family  for  aught  I  know,  for  they  are  all 
Btout  gentlemen !" 

The  weather  continued  rainy.  The  mysterious  unknown 
kept  his  room,  and,  as  far  as  I  could  judge,  his  chair,  for  I  did 
not  hear  him  move.  In  the  meantime,  as  the  day  advanced, 
the  travellers'-room  began  to  be  frequented.  Some,  who  had 
just  arrived,  came  in  buttoned  up  in  box-coats;  others  came 
home,  who  had  been  dispersed  about  the  town.  Some  took 
their  dinners,  and  some  their  tea.  Had  I  been  in  a  different 
mood,  I  should  have  found  entertainment  in  studying  this 
peculiar  class  of  men.  There  were  two  especially,  who  were 
regular  wags  of  the  road,  and  up  to  all  the  standing  jokes  of 
travellers.  They  had  a  thousand  sly  things  to  say  to  the  wait- 
ing-maid, whom  they  called  Louisa,  and  Ethelinda,  and  a  dozen 
other  fine  names,  changing  the  name  every  time,  and  chuckling 
amazingly  at  their  own  waggery.  My  mind,  however,  had 
become  completely  engrossed  by  the  stout  gentleman.  He  had 
kept  my  fancy  in  chase  during  a  long  day,  and  it  was  not  now 
to  be  diverted  from  the  scent. 

The  evening  gradually  wore  away.  The  travellers  read  the 
papers  two  or  three  times  over.  Some  drew  round  the  fire, 
and  told  long  stories  about  their  horses,  about  their  adventures, 
their  overturns,  and  breakings  down.  They  discussed  the  cred- 
its of  different  merchants  and  different  inns ;  and  the  two  wags 
told  several  choice  anecdotes  of  pretty  chamber-maids,  and  kind 
landladies.  All  this  passed  as  they  were  quietly  taking  what 
they  called  their  night-caps,  that  is  to  say,  strong  glasses  of 
brandy  and  water  and  sugar,  or  some  other  mixture  of  the 
kind;  after  which  they  one  after  another  rang  for  "Boots" 
and  the  chamber-maid,  and  walked  off  to  bed  in  old  shoes  cut 
down  into  marvellously  uncomfortable  slippers. 

There  was  only  one  man  left;  a  short-legged,  long-bodied, 
plethoric  fellow,  with  a  very  large,  sandy  head.  He  sat  by 
himself,  with  a  glass  of  port  wine  negus,  and  a  spoon ;  sipping 


56  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

and  stirring,  and  meditating  and  sipping,  until  nothing 
left  but  the  spoon.  He  gradually  fell  asleep  bolt  upright  in  his 
chair,  with  the  empty  glass  standing  before  him ;  and  the  can- 
dle seemed  to  fall  asleep  too,  for  the  wick  grew  long,  and  black, 
and  cabbaged  at  the  end,  and  dimmed  the  little  light  that  re- 
mained in  the  chamber.  The  gloom  that  now  prevailed  was 
contagious.  Around  hung  the  shapeless,  and  almost  spectral, 
box-coats  of  departed  travellers,  long  since  buried  in  deep 
sleep.  I  only  heard  the  ticking  of  the  clock,  with  the  deep- 
drawn  breathings  of  the  sleeping  topers,  and  the  drippings  of 
the  rain,  drop — drop — drop,  from  the  eaves  of  the  house.  The 
church-bells  chimed  midnight.  All  at  once  the  stout  gentle- 
man began  to  walk  overhead,  pacing  slowly  backwards  and 
forwards.  There  was  something  extremely  awful  in  all  this, 
especially  to  one  in  my  state  of  nerves.  These  ghastly  great- 
coats, these  guttural  breathings,  and  the  creaking  footsteps  of 
this  mysterious  being.  His  steps  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  and 
at  length  died  away.  I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  I  was  wound 
up  to  the  desperation  of  a  hero  of  romance.  "Be  he  who  or 
what  he  may,"  said  I  to  myself,  "I'll  have  a  sight  of  him!"  I 
seized  a  chamber  candle,  and  hurried  up  to  number  13.  The 
door  stood  ajar.  I  hesitated — I  entered :  the  room  was  desert- 
ed. There  stood  a  large,  broad-bottomed  elbow  chair  at  a  table, 
on  which  was  an  empty  tumbler,  and  a  "Times"  newspaper, 
and  the  room  smelt  powerfully  of  Stilton  cheese. 

The  mysterious  stranger  had  evidently  but  just  retired.  I 
turned  off,  sorely  disappointed,  to  my  room,  which  had  been 
changed  to  the  front  of  the  house.  As  I  went  along  the  corri- 
dor, I  saw  a  large  pair  of  boots,  with  dirty,  waxed  tops,  stand- 
ing at  the  door  of  a  bed-chamber.  They  doubtless  belonged  to 
the  unknown ;  but  it  would  not  do  to  disturb  so  redoubtable  a 
personage  in  his  den ;  he  might  discharge  a  pistol,  or  something 
worse,  at  my  head.  I  went  to  bed,  therefore,  and  lay  awako 
half  the  night  in  a  terrible  nervous  state ;  and  even  when  I  fell 
asleep,  I  was  still  haunted  in  my  dreams  by  the  idea  of  the 
stout  gentleman  and  his  wax-topped  boots. 

I  slept  rather  late  the  next  morning,  and  was  awakened  by 
some  stir  and  bustle  in  the  house,  which  I  could  not  at  first 
comprehend;  until  getting  more  awake,  I  found  there  was  a 
mail-coach  starting  from  the  door.  Suddenly  there  was  a  cry 
from  below,  " The  gentleman  has  forgot  his  umbrella!  look  for 
the  gentleman's  umbrella  in  No.  13!"  I  heard  an  immediate 
scampering  of  a  chamber-maid  along  the  passage,  and  a  shrill 


FOREST  TREES.  57 

reply  as  she  ran,    "Here  it  is!  here's  the  gentleman's  um- 
brella !" 

The  mysterious  stranger  then  was  on  the  point  of  setting  off. 
This  was  the  only  chance  I  should  ever  have  of  knowing  him. 
I  sprang  out  of  bed,  scrambled  to  the  window,  snatched  aside 
the  curtains,  and  just  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  rear  of  a  person 
getting  in  at  the  coach-door.  The  skirts  of  a  brown  coat  parted 
behind,  and  gave  me  a  full  view  of  the  broad  disk  of  a  pair  of 
drab  breeches.  The  door  closed — "all  right!"  was  the  word — 
the  coach  whirled  off: — and  that  was  all  I  ever  saw  of  the  stout 
gentleman ! 


FOREST  TREES. 

"  A  living  gallery  of  aged  trees." 

ONE  of  the  favourite  themes  of  boasting  with  the  Squire,  ia 
the  noble  trees  on  his  estate,  which,  in  truth,  has  some  of  the 
finest  that  I  have  seen  in  England.  There  is  something  august 
and  solemn  in  the  great  avenues  of  stately  oaks  that  gather 
their  branches  together  high  in  air,  and  seem  to  reduce  the 
pedestrians  beneath  them  to  mere  pigmies.  "An  avenue  of 
oaks  or  elms,"  the  Squire  observes,  "is  the  true  colonnade  that 
should  lead  to  a  gentleman's  house.  As  to  stone  and  marble, 
any  one  can  rear  them  at  once— they  are  the  work  of  the  day; 
but  commend  me  to  the  colonnades  that  have  grown  old  and 
great  with  the  family,'  and  tell  by  their  grandeur  how  long  the 
family  has  endured." 

The  Squire  has  great  reverence  for  certain  venerable  trees, 
gray  with  moss,  which  he  considers  as  the  ancient  nobility  of  his 
domain.  There  is  the  ruin  of  an  enormous  oak,  which  has  been . 
so  much  battered  by  time  and  tempest,  that  scarce  any  thing 
is  left ;  though  he  says  Christy  recollects  when,  in  his  boyhood, 
it  was  healthy  and  flourishing,  until  it  was  struck  by  lightning. 
It  is  now  a  mere  trunk,  with  one  twisted  bough  stretching  up 
into  the  air,  leaving  a  green  branch  at  the  end  of  it.  This 
sturdy  wreck  is  much  valued  by  the  Squire;  he  calls  it  his 
standard-bearer,  and  compares  it  to  a  veteran  warrior  beaten 
down  in  battle,  but  bearing  up  his  banner  to  the  last.  He  has 
actually  had  a  fence  built  round  it,  to  protect  it  as  much  as 
possible  from  further  injury. 


58  BRACEBR1DGE  HALL. 

It  is  with  great  difficulty  that  the  Squire  can  ever  be  brought 
to  have  any  tree  cut  down  on  his  estate.  To  some  he  looks 
with  reverence,  as  having  been  planted  by  his  ancestors;  to 
others  with  a  kind  of  paternal  affection,  as  having  been  planted 
by  himself;  and  he  feels  a  degree  of  awe  in  bringing  down, 
with  a  few  strokes  of  the  axe,  what  it  has  cost  centuries  to 
build  up.  I  confess  I  cannot  but  sympathize,  in  some  degree, 
with  the  good  Squire  on  the  subject.  Though  brought  up  in  a 
country  overrun  with  forests,  where  trees  are  apt  to  be  consid- 
ered mere  encumbrances,  and  to  be  laid  low  without  hesitation 
or  remorse,  yet  I  could  never  see  a  fine  tree  hewn  down  without 
concern.  The  poets,  who  are  naturally  lovers  of  trees,  as  they 
are  of  every  thing  that  is  beautiful,  have  artfully  awakened 
great  interest  in  their  favour,  by  representing  them  as  the  habi- 
tations of  sylvan  deities ;  insomuch  that  every  great  tree  had  its 
tutelar  genius,  or  a  nymph,  whose  existence  was  limited  to  its 
duration.  Evelyn,  in  his  Sylva,  makes  several  pleasing  and 
fanciful  allusions  to  this  superstition.  "As  the  fall,"  says  he, 
"of  a  very  aged  oak,  giving  a  crack  like  thunder,  has  often 
been  heard  at  many  miles'  distance;  constrained  though  I 
often  am  to  fell  them  with  reluctancy,  I  do  not  at  any  tune  re- 
member to  have  heard  the  groans  of  those  nymphs  (grieving  to 
be  dispossessed  of  their  ancient  habitations)  without  some 
emotion  and  pity."  And  again,  in  alluding  to  a  violent  storm 
that  had  devastated  the  woodlands,  he  says,  "Methinks  I  still 
hear,  sure  I  am  that  I  still  feel,  the  dismal  groans  of  our 
forests ;  the  late  dreadful  hurricane  having  subverted  so  many 
thousands  of  goodly  oaks,  prostrating  the  trees,  laying  them  in 
ghnstly  postures,  like  whole  regiments  fallen  in  battle  by  the 
sword  of  the  conqueror,  and  crushing  all  that  grew  beneath 
them.  The  public  accounts,"  he  adds,  "reckon  no  less  than 
three  thousand  brave  oaks  in  one  part  only  of  the  forest  of 
Dean  blown  down." 

I  have  paused  more  than  once  in  the  wilderness  of  America, 
to  contemplate  the  traces  of  some  blast  of  wind,  which  seemed 
to  have  rushed  down  from  the  clouds,  and  ripped  its  way 
through  the  bosom  of  the  woodlands;  rooting  up,  shivering, 
and  splintering  the  stoutest  trees,  and  leaving  a  long  track  of 
desolation.  There  was  something  awful  in  the  vast  havoc  made 
among  these  gigantic  plants;  and  in  considering  their  magnifi- 
cent remains,  so  rudely  torn  and  mangled,  and  hurled  down  to 
perish  prematurely  on  their  native  soil,  I  was  conscious  of  a 
strong  movement  of  the  sympathy  so  feelingly  expressed  by 


FOREST  TEEE8.  59 

I  recollect,  also,  hearing  a  traveller  of  poetical  tem- 
perament expressing  the  kind  of  horror  which  he  felt  on  be- 
holding on  the  banks  of  the  Missouri,  an  oak  of  prodigious  size, 
which  had  been,  in  a  manner,  overpowered  by  an  enormous 
wild  grape-vine.  The  vine  had  clasped  its  huge  folds  round  the 
trunk,  and  from  thence  had  wound  about  every  branch  and 
twig,  until  the  mighty  tree  had  withered  in  its  embrace.  It 
eeemed  like  Laocoon  struggling  ineffectually  in  the  hideous 
coils  of  the  monster  Python.  It  was  the  liou  of  trees  perishing 
in  the  embraces  of  a  vegetable  boa. 

I  am  fond  of  listening  to  the  conversation  of  English  gentle- 
men on  rural  concerns,  and  of  noticing  with  what  taste  and 
discrimination,  and  what  strong,  unaffected  interest  they  will 
discuss  topics,  which,  in  other  countries,  are  abandoned  to 
mere  woodmen,  or  rustic  cultivators.  I  have  heard  a  noble 
earl  descant  on  park  and  forest  sceneiy  with  the  science  and 
feeling  of  a  painter.  He  dwelt  on  the  shape  and  beauty  of  par- 
ticular trees  on  his  estate,  with  as  much  pride  and  technical 
precision  as  though  he  had  been  discussing  the  merits  of  statues 
in  his  collection.  I  found  that  he  had  even  gone  considerable 
distances  to  examine  trees  which  were  celebrated  among  rural 
amateurs ;  for  it  seems  that  trees,  like  horses,  have  their  estab- 
lished points  of  excellence ;  and  that  there  are  some  in  England 
which  enjoy  very  extensive  celebrity  among  tree-fanciers,  from 
being  perfect  in  their  kind. 

There  is  something  nobly  simple  and  pure  in  such  a  taste  : 
it  argues,  I  think,  a  sweet  and  generous  nature,  to  have  this 
strong  relish  for  the  beauties  of  vegetation,  and  this  friend- 
ship for  the  hardy  and  glorious  sons  of  the  forest.  There  is 
a  grandeur  of  thought  connected  with  this  part  of  rural  econ- 
omy. It  is,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  figure,  the  heroic  line  of 
husbandry.  It  is  worthy  of  liberal,  and  free-born,  and  aspiring 
men.  He  who  plants  an  oak,  looks  forward  to  future  ages, 
and  plants  for  posterity.  Nothing  can  be  less  selfish  than  this. 
He  cannot  expect  to  sit  in  its  shade,  nor  enjoy  its  shelter  ;  but 
he  exults  in  the  idea  that  the  acorn  which  he  has  buried  in  the 
earth  shall  grow  up  into  a  lofty  pile,  and  shall  keep  on  flour- 
ishing, and  increasing,  and  benefiting  mankind,  long  after  he 
shall  have  ceased  to  tread  his  paternal  fields.  Indeed,  it  is  the 
nature  of  such  occupations  to  lift  the  thoughts  above  mere 
worldliness.  As  the  leaves  of  trees  are  said  to  absorb  all  nox- 
ious qualities  of  the  air,  and  to  breathe  forth  a  purer  atmosphere, 
so  it  seems  to  me  as  if  they  drew  from  us  all  sordid  and  angry 


60  BRACEBRIDQE  HALL. 

passions,  and  breathed  forth  peace  and  philanthropy.  There  is 
a  serene  and  settled  majesty  in  woodland  scenery,  that  enters 
into  the  soul,  and  dilates  and  elevates  it,  and  fills  it  with  noble 
inclinations.  The  ancient  and  hereditary  groves,  too,  that 
embower  this  island,  are  most  of  them  full  of  story.  They 
are  haunted  by  the  recollections  of  great  spirits  of  past  ages, 
who  have  sought  for  relaxation  among  them  from  the  tumult 
of  arms,  or  the  toils  of  state,  or  have  wooed  the  muse  beneath 
their  shade.  Who  can  walk,  with  soul  unmoved,  among  the 
stately  groves  of  Penshurst,  where  the  gallant,  the  amiable, 
the  elegant  Sir  Philip  Sidney  passed  his  boyhood ;  or  con  look 
without  fondness  upon  the  tree  that  is  said  to  have  been 
planted  on  his  birthday;  or  can  ramble  among  the  classic 
bowers  of  Hagley ;  or  can  pause  among  the  solitudes  of  Wind- 
sor Forest,  and  look  at  the  oaks  around,  huge,  gray,  and  time- 
worn,  like  the  old  castle  towers,  and  not  feel  as  if  he  were  sur- 
rounded by  so  many  monuments  of  long-enduring  glory?  It  is, 
when  viewed  in  this  light,  that  planted  groves,  and  stately 
avenues,  and  cultivated  parks,  have  an  advantage  over  the 
more  luxuriant  beauties  of  unassisted  nature.  It  is  that  they 
teem  with  moral  associations,  and  keep  up  the  ever-interesting 
Btory  of  human  existence. 

It  is  incumbent,  then,  on  the  high  and  generous  spirits  of  an 
ancient  nation,  to  cherish  these  sacred  groves  that  surround 
their  ancestral  mansions,  and  to  perpetuate  them  to  their  de- 
scendants. Republican  as  I  am  by  birth,  and  brought  up  as  I 
have  been  in  republican  principles  and  habits,  I  can  feel  noth- 
ing of  the  servile  reverence  for  titled  rank,  merely  because  it 
is  titled ;  but  I  trust  that  I  am  neither  churl  nor  bigot  in  my 
creed.  I  can  both  see  and  feel  how  hereditary  distinction, 
when  it  falls  to  the  lot  of  a  generous  mind,  may  elevate  that 
mind  into  true  nobility.  It  is  one  of  the  effects  of  hereditary 
rank,  when  it  falls  thus  happily,  that  it  multiplies  the  duties, 
and,  as  it  were,  extends  the  existence  of  the  possessor.  He 
does  not  feel  himself  a  mere  individual  link  in  creation,  respon- 
sible only  for  his  own  brief  term  of  being.  He  carries  back  his 
existence  in  proud  recollection,  and  he  extends  it  forward  in 
honourable  anticipation.  He  lives  with  his  ancestry,  and  he 
lives  with  his  posterity.  To  both  does  he  consider  himself 
involved  in  deep  responsibilities.  As  he  has  received  much 
from  those  that  have  gone  before,  so  he  feels  bound  to  trans- 
mit much  to  those  who  are  to  come  after  him.  His  domestic 
undertakings  seem  to  imply  a  longer  existence  than  those  of 


A  LITERARY  ANTIQUARY.  61 

ordinary  men ;  none  are  so  apt  to  build  and  plant  for  future 
centuries,  as  noble-spirited  men,  who  have  received  their 
heritages  from  foregone  ages. 

I  cannot  but  applaud,  therefore,  the  fondness  and  pride 
with  which  I  have  noticed  English  gentlemen,  of  generous 
temperaments,  and  high  aristocratic  feelings,  contemplating 
those  magnificent  trees,  which  rise  like  towers  and  pyramids, 
from  the  midst  of  their  paternal  lands.  There  is  an  affinity 
between  all  nature,  animate  and  inanimate:  the  oak,  in  the 
pride  and  lustihood  of  its  growth,  seems  to  me  to  take  its 
range  with  the  lion  and  the  eagle,  and  to  assimilate,  in  the 
grandeur  of  its  attributes,  to  heroic  and  intellectual  man.  With 
its  mighty  pillar  rising  straight  and  direct  towards  heaven, 
bearing  up  its  leafy  honours  from  the  impurities  of  earth,  and 
supporting  them  aloft  in  free  air  and  glorious  sunshine,  it  is  an 
emblem  of  what  a  true  nobleman  should  be;  a  refuge  for  the 
weak,  a  shelter  for  the  oppressed,  a  defence  for  the  defence- 
less ;  warding  off  from  them  the  peltings  of  the  storm,  or  the 
scorching  rays  of  arbitrary  power.  He  who  is  this,  is  an  orna- 
ment and  a  blessing  to  his  native  land.  He  who  is  otherwise, 
abuses  his  eminent  advantages;  abuses  the  grandeur  and 
prosperity  which  he  has  drawn  from  the  bosom  of  his  country. 
Should  tempests  arise,  and  he  be  laid  prostrate  by  the  storm, 
who  would  mourn  over  his  fall?  Should  he  be  borne  down  by 
the  oppressive  hand  of  power,  who  would  murmur  at  his 
fate?— "  Why  cumbereth  he  the  ground?" 


A  LITEEARY  ANTIQUARY. 

Printed  bookes  he  contemnes,  as  a  novelty  of  this  latter  age ;  but  a  manuscript  he 
pores  on  everlastingly;  especially  if  the  cover  be  all  moth-eaten,  and  the  dust  make 
a  parenthesis  betweene  every  syllable. — Mico-Cosmographie,  1628. 

THE  Squire  receives  great  sympathy  and  support,  in  his  anti- 
quated humours,  from  the  parson,  of  whom  I  made  some  men- 
tion on  my  former  visit  to  the  Hall,  and  who  acts  as  a  kind  of 
family  chaplain.  He  has  been  cherished  by  the  Squire  almost 
constantly,  since  the  time  that  they  were  fellow-students  at 
Oxford ;  for  it  is  one  of  the  peculiar  advantages  of  these  great 
universities,  that  they  often  link  the  poor  scholar  to  the  rich 
patron,  by  early  and  heart-felt  ties,  that  last  through  life,  with- 


62  BRACKBKIDGE  HALL. 

out  the  usual  humiliations  of  dependence  and  patronage.  Under 
the  fostering  protection  of  the  Squire,  therefore,  the  little  par- 
son has  pursued  his  studies  in  peace.  Having  lived  almost 
entirely  among  books,  and  those,  too,  old  books,  he  is  quite 
ignorant  of  the  world,  and  his  mind  is  as  antiquated  as  the 
garden  at  the  Hall,  where  the  flowers  are  all  arranged  in  formal 
beds,  and  the  yew-trees  clipped  into  urns  and  peacocks. 

His  taste  for  literary  antiquities  was  first  imbibed  in  the 
Bodleian  Library  at  Oxford ;  where,  when  a  student,  he  passed 
many  an  hour  foraging  among  the  old  manuscripts.  He  has 
since,  at  different  times,  visited  most  of  the  curious  libraries  in 
England,  and  has  ransacked  many  of  the  cathedrals.  With  all 
his  quaint  and  curious  learning,  he  has  nothing  of  arrogance  or 
pedantry;  but  that  unaffected  earnestness  and  guileless  sim- 
plicity which  seem  to  belong  to  the  literary  antiquary. 

He  is  a  dark,  mouldy  little  man,  and  rather  dry  in  his  manner ; 
yet,  on  his  favourite  theme,  he  kindles  up,  and  at  times  is  even 
eloquent.  No  fox-hunter,  recounting  his  last  day's  sport,  could 
be  more  animated  than  I  have  seen  the  worthy  parson,  when 
relating  his  search  after  a  curious  document,  which  he  had 
traced  from  library  to  library,  until  he  fairly  unearthed  it  in 
the  dusty  chapter-house  of  a  cathedral.  When,  too,  he  describes 
some  venerable  manuscript,  with  its  rich  illuminations,  its  thick 
creamy  vellum,  its  glossy  ink,  and  the  odour  of  the  cloisters  that 
seemed  to  exhale  from  it,  he  rivals  the  enthusiasm  of  a  Parisian 
epicure,  expatiating  on  the  merits  of  a  Perigord  pie,  or  a  Pattt 
de  Strasbourg. 

His  brain  seems  absolutely  haunted  with  love-sick  dreams 
about  gorgeous  old  works  in  "silk  linings,  triple  gold  bands, 
and  tinted  leather,  locked  up  in  wire  cases,  and  secured  from 
the  vulgar  hands  of  the  mere  reader;"  and,  to  continue  the 
happy  expressions  of  an  ingenious  writer,  "dazzling  one's  eyes 
like  eastern  beauties,  peering  through  their  jealousies."  * 

He  has  a  great  desire,  however,  to  read  such  works  in  the  old 
libraries  and  chapter-houses  to  which  they  belong;  for  he 
thinks  a  black-letter  volume  reads  best  in  one  of  those  venera- 
ble chambers  where  the  light  ^struggles  through  dusty  lancet 
windows  and  painted  glass ;  and  that  it  loses  half  its  zest,  if 
taken  away  from  the  neighbourhood  of  the  quaintly-carved 
oaken  book-case  and  Gothic  reading-desk.  At  his  suggestion, 
the  Squire  has  had  the  library  furnished  in  this  antique  taste, 

*  D'Israeli— Curiosities  of  Literature. 


A  LITERARY  ANTIQUARY.  63 

and  several  of  the  windows  glazed  with  painted  glass,  that  they 
may  throw  a  properly  tempered  light  upon  the  pages  of  their 
favourite  old  authors. 

The  parson,  I  am  told,  has  been  for  some  time  meditating  a 
commentary  on  Strutt,  Brand,  and  Douce,  in  which  he  means 
to  detect  them  in  sundry  dangerous  errors  in  respect  to  popular 
games  and  superstitions ;  a  work  to  which  the  Squire  looks  f o.  -. 
ward  with  great  interest.  He  is,  also,  a  casual  contributor  to 
that  long-established  repository  of  national  customs  and  antiq- 
uities, the  Gentleman's  Magazine,  and  is  one  of  those  that  every 
now  and  then  make  an  inquiry  concerning  some  obsolete  cus- 
tom or  rare  legend ;  nay,  it  is  said  that  several  of  his  commun- 
ications have  been  at  least  six  inches  in  length.  He  frequently 
receives  parcels  by  coach  from  different  parts  of  the  kingdom, 
containing  mouldy  volumes  and  almost  illegible  manuscripts ; 
for  it  is  singular  what  an  active  correspondence  is  kept  up 
among  literary  antiquaries,  and  how  soon  the  fame  of  any  rare 
volume,  or  unique  copy,  just  discovered  among  the  rubbish 
of  a  library,  is  circulated  among  them.  The  parson  is  more 
busy  than  common  just  now,  being  a  little  flurried  by  an  ad- 
vertisement of  a  work,  said  to  be  preparing  for  the  press,  on 
the  mythology  of  the  middle  ages.  The  little  man  has  long 
been  gathering  together  all  the  hobgoblin  tales  he  could  collect, 
illustrative  of  the  superstitions  of  former  times ;  and  he  is  in 
a  complete  fever  lest  this  formidable  rival  should  take  the 
field  before  him, 

Shortly  after  my  arrival  at  the  Hall,  I  called  at  the  parson- 
age, in  company  with  Mr.  Bracebridge  and  the  general.  The 
parson  had  not  been  seen  for  several  days,  which  was  a  matter 
of  some  surprise,  as  he  was  an  almost  daily  visitor  at  the  Hall. 
We  found  him  in  his  study ;  a  small  dusky  chamber,  lighted  by 
a  lattice  window  that  looked  into  the  church-yard,  and  was  • 
overshadowed  by  a  yew-tree.  His  chair  was  surrounded  by 
folios  and  quartos,  piled  upon  the  floor,  and  his  table  was  cov- 
ered with  books  and  manuscripts.  The  cause  of  his  seclusion 
was  a  work  which  he  had  recently  received,  and  with  which 
he  had  retired  in  rapture  from  the  world,  and  shut  himself  up 
to  enjoy  a  literary  honeymoon  undisturbed.  Never  did  board- 
ing-school girl  devour  the  pages  of  a  sentimental  novel,  or  Don 
Quixote  a  chivalrous  romance,  with  more  intense  delight  than 
did  the  little  man  banquet  on  the  pages  of  this  delicious  work. 
It  was  Dibdin's  Bibliographical  Tour ;  a  work  calculated  to  have 
as  intoxicating  an  effect  on  the  imaginations  of  literary  anti- 


64  BRACEBRIDQE  HALL. 

quaries,  as  the  adventures  of  the  heroes  of  the  round  table,  on 
all  true  knights ;  or  the  tales  of  the  early  American  voyagers 
on  the  ardent  spirits  of  the  age,  filling  them  with  dreams  of 
Mexican  and  Peruvian  mines,  and  of  the  golden  realm  of  El 
Dorado. 

The  good  parson  had  looked  forward  to  this  bibliographical 
expedition  as  of  far  greater  importance  than  those  to  Africa  or 
the  North  Pole.  With  what  eagerness  had  he  seized  upon  the 
history  of  the  enterprise !  with  what  interest  had  he  followed 
the  redoubtable  bibliographer  and  his  graphical  squire  in  their 
adventurous  roamings  among  Norman  castles,  and  cathedrals, 
and  French  libraries,  and  German  convents  and  universities; 
penetrating  into  the  prison-houses  of  vellum  manuscripts,  and 
exquisitely  illuminated  missals,  and  revealing  their  beauties  to 
the  world  I 

When  the  parson  had  finished  a  rapturous  eulogy  on  this 
most  curious  and  entertaining  work,  he  drew  forth  from  a  little 
drawer  a  manuscript  lately  received  from  a  correspondent, 
which  had  perplexed  him  sadly.  It  was  written  in  Norman 
French,  in  very  ancient  dim  arters,  and  so  faded  and  mouldered 
away  as  to  be  almost  illegible.  It  was  apparently  an  old  Norman 
drinking  song,  that  might  have  been  brought  over  by  one  of 
William  the  Conqueror's  carousing  followers.  The  writing  Avas 
just  legible  enough  to  keep  a  keen  antiquity -hunter  on  a  doubt- 
ful chase ;  here  and  there  he  would  be  completely  thrown  out, 
and  then  there  would  be  a  few  words  so  plainly  written  as  to 
put  him  on  the  scent  again.  In  this  way  he  had  been  led  on 
for  a  whole  day,  until  he  had  found  himself  completely  at 
fault. 

The  Squire  endeavoured  to  assist  him,  but  was  equally  baffled. 
The  old  general  listened  for  some  time  to  the  discussion,  and 
then  asked  the  parson  if  he  had  read  Captain  Morris's,  or 
George  Stevens's,  or  Anacreon  Moore's  bacchanalian  songs? 
On  the  other  replying  in  the  negative,  "Oh,  then,"  said  the 
general,  with  a  sagacious  nod,  "  if  you  want  a  drinking  song, 
I  can  furnish  you  with  the  latest  collection — I  did  not  know 
you  had  a  turn  for  those  kind  of  things ;  and  I  can  lend  you 
the  Encyclopedia  of  Wit  into  the  bargain.  I  never  travel  with- 
out them;  they're  excellent  reading  at  an  inn." 

It  would  not  be  easy  to  describe  the  odd  look  of  surprise  and 
perplexity  of  the  parson,  at  this  proposal ;  or  the  difficulty  the 
Squire  had  in  making  the  general  comprehend,  that  though  a 
jovial  song  of  the  present  day  was  but  a  foolish  sound  in  tUe 


A  LITERART  ANTIQUART.  05 

&irs  of  wisdom,  and  beneath  the  notice  of  a  learned  man,  jet  a 
trowl,  written  by  a  tosspot  several  hundred  years  since,  was  a 
matter  worthy  of  the  gravest  research,  and  enough  to  set 
whole  colleges  by  the  ears. 

I  have  since  pondered  much  on  this  matter,  and  have 
figured  to  myself  what  may  be  the  fate  of  our  current  litera- 
ture, when  retrieved,  piecemeal,  by  future  antiquaries,  from, 
among  the  rubbish  of  ages.  What  a  Magnus  Apollo,  for 
instance,  will  Moore  become,  among  sober  divines  and  dusty 
schoolmen!  Even  his  festive  and  amatory  songs,  which  are 
now  the  mere  quickeners  of  our  social  moments,  or  the  delights 
of  our  drawing-rooms,  will  then  become  matters  of  laborious 
research  and  painful  collation.  How  many  a  grave  professor 
will  then  waste  his  midnight  oil,  or  worry  his  brain  through  a 
long  morning,  endeavouring  to  restore  the  pure  text,  or  illus- 
trate the  biographical  hints  of  ' '  Come,  tell  me,  says  Rosa,  as 
kissing  and  kissed ;"  and  how  many  an  arid  old  bookworm,  like 
the  worthy  little  parson,  will  give  up  in  despair,  after  vainly 
striving  to  fill  up  some  fatal  hiatus  in  "  Fanny  of  Timmol" ! 

Nor  is  it  merely  such  exquisite  authors  as  Moore  that  are 
doomed  to  consume  the  oil  of  future  antiquaries.  Many  a  poor 
scribbler,  who  is  now,  apparently,  sent  to  oblivion  by  pastry- 
cooks and  cheese-mongers,  will  then  rise  again  in  fragments, 
and  flourish  in  learned  immortality. 

After  all,  thought  I,  time  is  not  such  an  invariable  destroyer 
as  he  is  represented.  If  he  pulls  down,  he  likewise  builds  up ; 
if  he  impoverishes  one,  he  enriches  another ;  his  very  dilapida- 
tions furnish  matter  for  new  works  of  controversy,  and  his 
rust  is  more  precious  than  the  most  costly  gilding.  Under  his 
plastic  hand,  trifles  rise  into  importance ;  the  nonsense  of  one 
age  becomes  the  wisdom  of  another ;  the  levity  of  the  wit  gravi- 
tates into  the  learning  of  the  pedant,  and  an  ancient  farthing 
moulders  into  infinitely  more  value  than  a  modern  guinea. 


BRACEBRIDQE  HALL. 


THE  FARM-HOUSE. 

"  Love  and  hay 

Are  thick  sown,  but  come  up  full  of  thistles." 

—BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

I  WAS  so  much  pleased  with  the  anecdotes  which  were  t«  :  i 
me  of  Ready-Money  Jack  Tibbets,  that  I  got  Master  Simon,  a 
day  or  two  since,  to  take  me  to  his  house.  It  was  an  oM- 
fashioned  farm-house  built  with  brick,  with  curiously  twisted 
chimneys.  It  stood  at  a  little  distance  from  the  road,  with  a 
southern  exposure,  looking  upon  a  soft  green  slope  of  meadow. 
There  was  a  small  garden  in  front,  with  a  row  of  bee-hives 
humming  among  beds  of  sweet  herbs  and  flowers.  Well- 
Bcoured  milking  tubs,  with  bright  copper  hoops,  hung  on  the 
garden  paling.  Fruit  trees  were  trained  up  against  the  cottage, 
and  pots  of  flowers  stood  in  the  windows.  A  fat,  superannuated 
mastiff  lay  in  the  sunshine  at  the  door;  with  a  sleek  cat  sleep- 
ing peacefully  across  him. 

Mr.  Tibbets  was  from  home  at  the  time  of  our  calling,  but  we 
were  received  with  hearty  and  homely  welcome  by  his  wife ;  a 
notable,  motherly  woman,  and  a  complete  pattern  for  wives ; 
since,  according  to  Master  Simon's  account,  she  never  contra- 
dicts honest  Jack,  and  yet  manages  to  have  her  own  way,  and 
to  control  him  in  every  thing. 

She  received  us  in  the  main  room  of  the  honso.  a  kind  of 
parlour  and  hall,  with  great  brown  beams  of  timber  across  it, 
which  Mr.  Tibbets  is  apt  to  point  out  with  some  exultation, 
observing,  that  they  don't  put  such  timber  in  houses  now-a- 
days.  The  furniture  was  old-fashion rd,  strong,  and  highly 
jpolished ;  the  walls  were  hung  with  coloured  prints  of  the  story 
of  the  Prodigal  Son,  who  was  represented  in  a  red  coat  and 
leather  breeches.  Over  the  fire-plar-e  was  a  blunderbuss,  and 
a  hard-favoured  likeness  of  Ready-Money  Jack,  takon  when  he 
•was  a  young  man,  by  the  same  artist  that  painted  the  tavera 
sign;  his  mother  having  taken  a  notion  that  the  Tibbets' had 
as  much  right  to  have  a  gallery  of  family  portraits  as  the  folks 
at  the  Hall. 

The  good  dame  pressed  us  very  much  to  take  «ome  refresh 
ment,  and  tempted  us  with  a  variety  of  lions* -hold  dainties,  so 
that  we  were  glad  to  compound  by  tasting  soino  of  her  home- 
made wines.  While  we  were  there,  the  son  and  heir-apparent 


-THE  FAUN  HOUSE.  67 

cmme  home ;  a  good-looking  young  fellow,  and  something  of  a 
rustic  beau.  He  took  us  over  the  premises,, and  showed  us  the 
whole  establishment.  An  air  of  homely  but  substantial  plenty 
prevailed  throughout ;  every  thing  was  of  the  best  materials, 
and  in  the  best  condition.  Nothing  was  out  of  place,  or  ill 
made ;  and  you  saw  every  where  the  signs  of  a  man  that  took 
care  to  have  the  worth  of  his  money,  and  that  paid  as  he  went. 

The  farm-yard  was  well  stocked ;  under  a  shed  was  a  taxed 
cart,  in  trim  order,  in  which  Ready-Money  Jack  took  his  wife 
about  the  country.  His  well-fed  horse  neighed  from  the  stable, 
and  when  led  out  into  the  yard,  to  use  the  words  of  young 
Jack,  "he  shone  like  a  bottle;"  for  he  said  the  old  man  made 
it  a  rule  that  every  thing  about  him  should  fare  as  well  as  he 
did  himself. 

I  was  pleased  to  see  the  pride  which  the  young  fellow  seemed 
to  have  of  his  father.  He  gave  us  several  particulars  concern- 
ing his  habits,  which  were  pretty  much  to  the  effect  of  those  I 
have  already  mentioned.  He  had  never  suffered  an  account  to 
stand  in  his  life,  always  providing  the  money  before  he  pur- 
chased any  thing ;  and,  if  possible,  paying  in  gold  and  silver. 
He  had  a  great  dislike  to  paper  money,  and  seldom  went  with- 
out a  considerable  sum  in  gold  about  him.  On  my  observing 
that  it  was  a  wonder  he  had  never  been  waylaid  and  robbed, 
the  young  fellow  smiled  at  the  idea  of  any  one  venturing  upon 
such  an  exploit,  for  I  believe  he  thinks  the  old  man  would  be  a 
match  for  Robin  Hood  and  all  his  gang. 

I  have  noticed  that  Master  Simon  seldom  goes  into  any  house 
without  having  a  world  of  private  talk  with  some  one  or  other 
of  the  family,  being  a  kind  of  universal  counsellor  and  confi- 
dant. We  had  not  been  long  at  the  farm,  before  the  old  dame 
got  him  into  a  corner  of  her  parlour,  where  they  had  a  long, 
whispering  conference  together ;  in  which  I  saw,  by  his  shrugs, 
that  there  were  some  dubious  matters  discussed,  and  by  his 
nods  that  he  agreed  with  every  thing  she  said. 

After  we  had  come  out,  the  young  man  accompanied  us  a 
little  distance,  and  then,  drawing  Master  Simon  aside  into  a 
green  lane,  they  walked  and  talked  together  for  nearly  half  an 
hour.  Master  Simon,  who  has  the  usual  propensity  of  confi- 
dants to  blab  every  thing  to  the  next  friend  they  meet  with, 
let  me  know  that  there  was  a  love  affair  in  question ;  the  young 
fellow  having  been  smitten  with  the  charms  of  Phoebe  Wilkins, 
the  pretty  niece  of  the  housekeeper  at  the  Hall.  Like  most 
Other  love  concerns,  it  had  brought  its  troubles  and  perplexi- 


6g  BRACEBRWGR  HALL. 

ties.  Dame  Tibbets  had  long  been  on  intimate,  gossiping  terms 
with  the  housekeeper,  who  often  visited  the  farm-house;  but 
when  the  neighbours  spoke  to  her  of  the  likelihood  of  a  match 
between  her  son  and  Phoebe  Wilkins,  "Marry  come  up!"  she 
scouted  the  very  idea.  The  girl  had  acted  as  lady's  maid ;  and 
it  was  beneath  the  blood  of  the  Tibbets',  who  had  li ved  on  their 
own  lands  time  out  of  mind,  and  owed  reverence  and  thanks  to 
nobody,  to  have  the  heir-apparent  marry  a  servant ! 

These  vapourings  had  faithfully  been  carried  to  the  house- 
keeper's ear,  by  one  of  their  mutual  go-between  friends.  The 
old  housekeeper's  blood,  if  not  as  ancient,  was  as  quick  as  tliat 
of  Dame  Tibbets.  She  had  been  accustomed  to  carry  a  high 
head  at  the  Hall,  and  among  the  villagers;  and  her  faded 
brocade  rustled  with  indignation  at  the  slight  cast  upon  her 
alliance  by  the  wife  of  a  petty  farmer.  She  maintained  that 
her  niece  had  been  a  companion  rather  than  a  waiting-maid  to 
the  young  ladies.  "Thank  heavens,  she  was  not  obliged  to 
work  for  her  living,  and  was  as  idle  as  any  young  lady  in  the 
land ;  and  when  somebody  died,  would  receive  something  that 
would  be  worth  the  notice  of  some  folks,  with  all  their  ready 
money." 

A  bitter  feud  had  thus  taken  place  between  the  two  worthy 
dames,  and  the  young  people  were  forbidden  to  think  of  one 
another.  As  to  young  Jack,  he  was  too  much  in  love  to  reason 
upon  the  matter ;  and  being  a  little  heady,  and  not  standing  in 
much  awe  of  his  mother,  was  ready  to  sacrifice  the  whole 
dignity  of  the  Tibbets'  to  his  passion.  He  had  lately,  however, 
had  a  violent  quarrel  with  his  mistress,  in  consequence  of  some 
coquetry  on  her  part,  and  at  present  stood  aloof.  The  politic 
mother  was  exerting  all  her  ingenuity  to  widen  the  accidental 
breach;  but,  as  is  most  commonly  the  case,  the  more  she  med- 
dled with  this  perverse  inclination  of  the  son,  the  stronger  it 
grew.  In  the  meantime,  old  Eeady-Money  was  kept  completely 
in  the  dark ;  both  parties  were  in  awe  and  uncertainty  as  to 
what  might  be  his  way  of  taking  the  matter,  and  dreaded  to 
awaken  the  sleeping  lion.  Between  father  and  son,  therefore, 
the  worthy  Mrs.  Tibbets  was  full  of  business,  and  at  her  wit's 
end.  It  is  true  there  was  no  great  danger  of  honest  Ready- 
Money's  finding  the  thing  out,  if  left  to  himself ;  for  he  was  of 
a  most  unsuspicious  temper,  and  by  no  means  quick  of  appre- 
hension ;  but  there  was  daily  risk  of  his  attention  being  aroused, 
by  the  cobwebs  which  his  indefatigable  wife  was  continually 
spinning  about  his  nose. 


HORSEMANSHIP.  69 

Such  is  the  distracted  state  of  politics,  in  the  domestic  empire 
of  Beady-Money  Jack;  which  only  shows  the  intrigues  and 
internal  dangers  to  which  the  best-regulated  governments  are 
liable.  In  this  perplexed  situation  of  their  affairs,  both  mother 
and  son  have  applied  to  Master  Simon  for  counsel ;  and,  with 
all  his  experience  in  meddling  with  other  people's  concerns,  he 
finds  it  an  exceedingly  difficult  part  to  play,  to  agree  with  both 
parties,  seeing  that  their  opinions  and  wishes  are  so  diametri- 
cally opposite. 


HORSEMANSHIP. 

A  coach  was  a  strange  monster  in  those  days,  and  the  sight  put  both  horse  and 
man  into  amazement.  Some  said  it  was  a  great  crabshell  brought  out  of  China,  and 
some  imagined  it  to  be  one  of  the  pagan  temples,  in  which  the  canibals  adored  the 
divell. — TAYLOR,  THE  WATER  POET. 

I  HAVE  made  casual  mention,  more  than  once,  of  one  of  the 
Squire's  antiquated  retainers,  old  Christy,  the  huntsman.  I 
find  that  his  crabbed  humour  is  a  source  of  much  entertainment 
among  the  young  men  of  the  family ;  the  Oxonian,  particularly, 
takes  a  mischievous  pleasure,  now  and  then,  in  slyly  rubbing 
the  old  man  against  the  grain,  and  then  smoothing  him  down 
again ;  for  the  old  fellow  is  as  ready  to  bristle  up  his  back  as  a 
porcupine.  He  rides  a  venerable  hunter  called  Pepper,  which 
is  a  counterpart  of  himself,  a  heady  cross-grained  animal,  that 
frets  the  flesh  off  its  bones ;  bites,  kicks,  and  plays  all  manner 
of  villainous  tricks.  He  is  as  tough,  and  nearly  as  old  as  his 
rider,  who  has  ridden  him  time  out  of  mind,  and  is,  indeed, 
the  only  one  that  can  do  any  thing  with  him.  Sometimes, 
however,  they  have  a  complete  quarrel,  and  a  dispute  for 
mastery,  and  then,  I  am  told,  jt  is  as  good  as  a  farce  to  see  the 
heat  they  both  get  into,  and  the  wrong-headed  contest  that 
ensues ;  for  they  are  quite  knowing  in  each  other's  ways,  and 
in  the  art  of  teasing  and  fretting  each  other.  Notwithstanding 
these  doughty  brawls,  however,  there  is  nothing  that  nettles 
old  Christy  sooner  than  to  question  the  merits  of  the  horse; 
which  he  upholds  as  tenaciously  as  a  faithful  husband  will 
vindicate  the  virtues  of  the  termagant  spouse,  that  gives  bim  a 
curtain  lecture  every  night  of  his  life. 

The  young  men  call  old  Christy  their  "professor  of  equita- 
tion ;"  and  in  accounting  for  the  appellation,  they  let  me  into 


70  BRACEBEIDGE  HALL. 

some  particulars  of  the  Squire's  mode  of  bringing  up  his  chil- 
dren. There  is  an  odd  mixture  of  eccentricity  and  good  sense 
in  all  the  opinions  of  my  worthy  host.  His  mind  is  like  mod- 
ern Gothic,  where  plain  brick-work  is  set  off  with  pointed 
arches  and  quaint  tracery.  Though  the  main  ground-work  of 
his  opinions  is  correct,  yet  he  has  a  thousand  little  notions, 
picked  up  from  old  books,  which  stand  out  whimsically  on  the 
surface  of  his  mind. 

Thus,  in  educating  his  boys,  he  chose  Peachem,  Markam,  and 
such  like  old  English  writers,  for  his  manuals.  At  an  early 
age  he  took  the  lads  out  of  their  mother's  hands,  who  was  dis- 
posed, as  mothers  are  apt  to  be,  to  make  fine,  orderly  children 
of  them,  that  should  keep  out  of  sun  and  rain  and  never  soil 
their  hands,  nor  tear  their  clothes. 

In  place  of  this,  the  Squire  turned  them  loose  to  run  free  and 
wild  about  the  park,  without  heeding  wind  or  weather.  He 
was,  also,  particularly  attentive  in  making  them  bold  and  ex- 
pert horsemen;  and  these  were  the  days  when  old  Christy, 
the  huntsman,  enjoyed  great  importance,  as  the  lads  were  put 
under  his  care  to  practise  them  at  the  leaping-bars,  and  to  keep 
an  eye  upon  them  in  the  chase. 

The  Squire  always  objected  to  their  riding  in  carriages  of  any 
kind,  and  is  still  a  little  tenacious  on  this  point.  He  often  rails 
against  the  universal  use  of  carriages,  and  quotes  the  words  of 
honest  Nashe  to  that  effect.  "  It  was  thought,"  says  Nashe,  in 
his  Quaternio,  "  a  kind  of  solecism,  and  to  savour  of  effeminacy, 
for  a  young  gentleman  in  the  flourishing  time  of  his  age  to 
creep  into  a  coach,  and  to  shroud  himself  from  wind  and 
weather:  our  great  delight  was  to  outbrave  the  blustering 
Boreas  upon  a  great  horse ;  to  arm  and  prepare  ourselves  to  go 
with  Mars  and  Bellona  into  the  field,  was  our  sport  and  pas- 
time ;  coaches  and  caroches  we  left  unto  them  for  whom  they 
were  first  invented,  for  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  decrepit  age 
and  impotent  people." 

The  Squire  insists  that  the  English  gentlemen  have  lost  much 
of  their  hardiness  and  manhood,  since  the  introduction  of  car- 
riages. ' '  Compare, "  he  will  say,  ' '  the  fine  gentleman  of  former 
times,  ever  on  horseback,  booted  and  spurred,  and  travel- 
stained,  but  open,  frank,  manly,  and  chivalrous,  with  the  fine 
gentleman  of  the  present  day,  full  of  affectation  and  effeminacy, 
rolling  along  a  turnpike  in  his  voluptuous  vehicle.  The  young 
men  of  those  days  were  rendered  brave,  and  lofty,  and  gener- 
ous in  their  notions,  by  almost  living  in  their  saddles,  and  hav« 


HORSEMANSHIP.  71 

ing  their  foaming  steeds  'like  proud  seas  under  them.'  There 
is  something,"  he  adds,  "in  bestriding  a  fine  horse  that  makes 
a  man  feel  more  than  mortal.  He  seems  to  have  doubled  his 
nature,  and  to  have  added  to  his  own  courage  and  sagacity  the 
power,  the  speed,  and  stateliness  of  the  superb  animal  on  which 
he  is  mounted." 

"  It  is  a  great  delight,"  says  old  Nashe,  "  to  see  a  young  gen- 
tleman with  his  skill  and  cunning,  by  his  voice,  rod,  and  spur, 
better  to  manage  and  to  command  the  great  Bucephalus,  than 
the  strongest  Milo,  with  all  his  strength ;  one  while  to  see  him 
make  him  tread,  trot,  and  gallop  the  ring;  and  one  after  to 
see  him  make  him  gather  up  roundly ;  to  bear  his  head  stead- 
ily ;  to  run  a  full  career  swiftly ;  to  stop  a  sudden  lightly ;  anon 
after  to  see  him  make  him  advance,  to  yerke,  to  go  back,  and 
sidelong,  to  turn  on  either  hand ;  to  gallop  the  gallop  galliard ; 
to  do  the  capriole,  the  chambetta,  and  dance  the  curvetty. " 

In  conformity  to  these  ideas,  the  Squire  had  them  all  on 
horseback  at  an  early  age,  and  made  them  ride,  slapdash,  about 
the  country,  without  flinching  at  hedge,  or  ditch,  or  stone  wall, 
to  the  imminent  danger  of  their  necks. 

Even  the  fan-  Julia  was  partially  included  hi  this  system ; 
and,  under  the  instructions  of  old  Christy,  has  become  one  of 
the  best  horsewomen  in  the  country.  The  Squire  says  it  is 
better  than  all  the  cosmetics  and  sweeteners  of  the  breath  that 
ever  were  invented.  He  extols  the  horsemanship  of  the  ladies 
in  former  times,  when  Queen  Elizabeth  would  scarcely  suffer 
the  rain  to  stop  her  accustomed  ride.  "And  then  think,"  he 
•will  say,  "what  nobler  and  sweeter  beings  it  made  them. 
"What  a  difference  must  there  be,  both  in  mind  and  body,  be- 
tween a  joyous,  high-spirited  dame  of  those  days,  glowing  with 
health  and  exercise,  freshened  by  every  breeze  that  blows, 
seated  loftily  and  gracefully  on  her  saddle,  with  plume  on 
head,  and  hawk  on  hand,  and  her  descendant  of  the  present 
day,  the  pale  victim  of  routs  and  ball-rooms,  sunk  languidly 
in  one  corner  of  an  enervating  carriage." 

The  Squire's  equestrian  system  has  been  attended  with  great 
success ;  for  his  sons,  having  passed  through  the  whole  course 
of  instruction  without  breaking  neck  or  limb,  are  now  health- 
ful, spirited,  and  active,  and  have  the  true  Englishman's  love 
for  a  horse.  If  their  manliness  and  frankness  are  praised  in 
their  father's  hearing,  he  quotes  the  old  Persian  maxim,  and 
says,  they  have  been  taught  "to  ride,  to  shoot,  and  to  speak 
the  truth." 


72  BRACEBRIDQE  HALL. 

It  is  true,  the  Oxonian  has  now  and  then  practised  the  old 
gentleman's  doctrines  a  little  in  the  extreme.  He  is  a  gay 
youngster,  rather  fonder  of  his  horse  than  his  book,  with  a  lit- 
tle dash  of  the  dandy ;  though  the  ladies  all  declare  that  he  is 
"the  flower  of  the  flock."  The  first  year  that  he  was  sent  to 
Oxford,  he  had  a  tutor  appointed  to  overlook  him,  a  dry  chip 
of  the  university.  When  he  returned  home  in  the  vacation, 
'the  Squire  made  many  inquiries  about  how  he  liked  his  college, 
his  studies,  and  his  tutor. 

"  Oh,  as  to  my  tutor,  sir,  I've  parted  with  him  some  time 
since." 

"You  have!  and,  pray,  why  so?" 

"Oh,  sir,  hunting  was  all  the  go  at  our  college,  and  I  was  a 
little  short  of  funds;  so  I  discharged  my  tutor,  and  took  a 
horse,  you  know." 

"Ah,  I  was  not  aware  of  that,  Tom," said  the  Squire,  mildly. 

When  Tom  returned  to  college,  his  allowance  was  doubled, 
that  he  might  be  enabled  to  keep  both  horse  and  tutor. 


LOVE  SYMPTOMS. 

I  will  now  begin  to  sigh,  read  poets,  look  pale,  go  neatly,  and  be  most  apparently 
in  love.— MARSTON. 

I  SHOULD  not  be  surprised,  if  we  should  have  another  pair  of 
turtles  at  the  Hall ;  for  Master  Simon  has  informed  me,  in  great 
confidence,  that  he  susi>ect8  the  general  of  some  design  upon 
the  susceptible  heart  of  Lady  Lillycraft.  I  have,  indeed,  no- 
ticed a  growing  attention  and  courtesy  in  the  veteran  towards 
her  ladyship ;  he  softens  very  much  in  her  company,  sits  by 
her  at  table,  and  entertains  her  with  long  stories  about  Sering- 
apatam,  and  pleasant  anecdotes  of  the  Mulligatawney  club. 
I  have  even  seen  him  present  her  with  a  full-blown  rose  from 
the  hot-house,  in  a  style  of  the  most  captivating  gallantry,  and 
it  was  accepted  with  great  suavity  and  graciousness ;  for  her 
ladyship  delights  in  receiving  the  homage  and  attention  of  the 
sex. 

Indeed,  the  general  was  one  of  the  earliest  admirers  that 
dangled  in  her  train,  during  her  short  reign  of  beauty ;  and 
they  flirted  together  for  half  a  season  in  London,  some  thirty 
or  forty  years  since.  She  reminded  him  lately,  in  the  course 


LOVE  SYMPTOMS.  73 

of  a  conversation  about  former  days,  of  the  time  when  he  used 
to  ride  a  white  horse,  and  to  canter  so  gallantly  by  the  side  of 
her  carriage  in  Hyde  Park ;  whereupon  I  have  remarked  that 
the  veteran  has  regularly  escorted  her  since,  when  she  rides 
out  on  horseback ;  and,  I  suspect,  he  almost  persuades  himself 
that  he  makes  as  captivating  an  appearance  as  in  his  youthful 
days. 

It  would  be  an  interesting  and  memorable  circumstance  in 
the  chronicles  of  Cupid,  if  this  spark  of  the  tender  passion,  after 
lying  dormant  for  such  a  length  of  time,  should  again  be  fanned 
into  a  flame,  from  amidst  the  ashes  of  two  burnt-out  hearts.  It 
would  be  an  instance  of  perdurable  fidelity,  worthy  of  being 
placed  beside  those  recorded  in  one  of  the  Squire's  favourite 
tomes,  commemorating  the  constancy  of  the  olden  times ;  in 
which  times,  we  are  told,  "Men  and  wymmen  coulde  love 
togyders  seven  yeres,  and  no  licours  lustes  were  betwene  them, 
and  thenne  was  love,  trouthe,  and  f eythf ulnes ;  and  lo  in  lyke 
wyse  was  used  love  in  King  Arthur's  dayes."* 

Still,  however,  this  may  be  nothing  but  a  little  venerable 
flirtation,  the  general  being  a  veteran  dangler,  and  the  good 
lady  habituated  to  these  kind  of  attentions.  Master  Simon,  on 
the  other  hand,  thinks  the  general  is  looking  about  him  with 
the  wary  eye  of  an  old  campaigner ;  and,  now  that  he  is  on  the 
wane,  is  desirous  of  getting  into  warm  winter-quarters.  Much 
allowance,  however,  must  be  made  for  Master  Simon's  uneasi- 
ness on  the  subject,  for  he  looks  on  Lady  Lillycraft's  house  as 
one  of  his  strongholds,  where  he  is  lord  of  the  ascendant ;  and, 
with  all  his  admiration  of  the  general,  I  much  doubt  whether 
he  would  like  to  see  him  lord  of  the  lady  and  the  establish- 
ment. 

There  are  certain  other  symptoms,  notwithstanding,  that  give 
an  air  of  probability  to  Master  Simon's  intimations.  Thus, 
for  instance,  I  have  observed  that  the  general  has  been  very 
assiduous  in  his  attentions  to  her  ladyship's  dogs,  and  haa 
several  times  exposed  his  fingers  to  imminent,  jeopardy,  in  at- 
tempting to  pat  Beauty  on  the  head.  It  is  to  be  hoped  his 
advances  to  the  mistress  will  be  more  favourably  received,  as  all 
his  overtures  towards  a  caress  are  greeted  by  the  pestilent  little 
cur  with  a  wary  kindling  of  the  eye,  and  a  most  venomous 
growl. 

He  has,  moreover,  been  very  complaisant  towards  my  lady's 

*  Morte  d'Arthur. 


74  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

gentlewoman,  the  immaculate  Mrs.  Hannah,  whom  he  used  to 
speak  of  in  a  way  that  I  do  not  choose  to  mention.  Whether 
she  has  the  same  suspicions  with  Master  Simon  or  not,  I  cannot 
say ;  but  she  receives  his  civilities  with  no  better  grace  than  the 
implacable  Beauty;  unscrewing  her  mouth  into  a  most  acid 
smile,  and  looking  as  though  she  could  bite  a  piece  out  of  him. 
In  short,  the  poor  general  seems  to  have  as  formidable  foes  to 
contend  with,  as  a  hero  of  ancient  fairy  tale ;  who  had  to  fight 
his  way  to  his  enchanted  princess  through  ferocious  monsters 
of  every  kind,  and  to  encounter  the  brimstone  terrors  of  some 
fiery  dragon. 

There  is  still  another  circumstance,  which  inclines  me  to  give 
very  considerable  credit  to  Master  Simon's  suspicions.  Lady 
Lillycraft  is  very  fond  of  quoting  poetry,  and  the  conversation 
often  turns  upon  it,  on  which  occasions  the  general  is  thrown 
completely  out.  It  happened  the  other  day  that  Spenser's 
Fairy  Queen  was  the  theme  for  the  greater  part  of  the  morn- 
ing, and  the  poor  general  sat  perfectly  silent.  I  found  him  not 
long  after  in  the  library,  with  spectacles  on  nose,  a  book  in  his 
hand,  and  fast  asleep.  On  my  approach,  he  awoke,  slipt  the 
spectacles  into  his  pocket,  and  began  to  read  very  attentively. 
After  a  little  while  he  put  a  paper  in  the  place,  and  laid  the 
volume  aside,  which  I  perceived  was  the  Fairy  Queen.  I  have 
had  the  curiosity  to  watch  how  he  got  on  in  his  poetical  studies ; 
but  though  I  have  repeatedly  seen  him  with  the  book  in  his 
hand,  yet  I  find  the  paper  has  not  advanced  above  three  or 
four  pages ;  the  general  being  extremely  apt  to  fall  asleep  when 
he  reads. 


FALCONET. 

Ne  Is  there  hawk  which  mantleth  on  her  perch, 

Whether  high  tow'ring  or  accousting  low, 
But  I  the  measure  of  her  flight  doe  search. 

And  all  her  prey  and  all  her  diet  know.— SPKNSER. 

THERE  are  several  grand  sources  of  lamentation  furnished  to 
the  worthy  Squire,  by  the  improvement  of  society  and  the 
grievous  advancement  of  knowledge;  among  which  there  is 
none,  I  believe,  that  causes  him  more  frequent  regret  than  the 
unfortunate  invention  of  gunpowder.  To  this  he  continually 
traces  the  decay  of  some  favourite  custom,  and,  indeed^  the 


FALCONRY.  75 

general  downfall  of  all  chivalrous  and  romantic  usages.  "  Eng- 
lish soldiers,"  he  says,  "have  never  been  the  men  they  were  in 
the  days  of  the  cross-bow  and  the  long-bow;  when  they  de- 
pended upon  the  strength  of  the  arm,  and  the  English  archer 
<could  draw  a  cloth-yard  shaft  to  the  head.  These  were  the 
times  when,  at  the  battles  of  Cressy,  Poictiers,  and  Agincourt, 
the  French  chivalry  was  completely  destroyed  by  the  bowmen 
of  England.  The  yeomanry,  too,  have  never  been  what  they 
"were,  when,  in  times  of  peace,  they  were  constantly  exercised 
with  the  bow,  and  archery  was  a  favourite  holiday  pastime." 

Among  the  other  evils  which  have  followed  in  the  train  of 
this  fatal  invention  of  gunpowder,  the  Squire  classes  the  total 
decline  of  the  noble  art  of  falconry.  "  Shooting,"  he  says,  "is 
a  skulking,  treacherous,  solitary  sport,  in  comparison;  but 
hawking  was  a  gallant,  open,  sunshiny  recreation ;  it  was  the 
generous  sport  of  hunting  carried  into  the  skies." 

"  It  was,  moreover,"  he  says,  "  according  to  Braithwate,  the 
stately  amusement  of  '  high  and  mounting  spirits ; '  for  as  the 
old  Welsh  proverb  affirms  in  those  times,  '  you  might  know  a 
gentleman  by  his  hawk,  horse,  and  grayhound.'  Indeed,  a 
cavalier  was  seldom  seen  abroad  without  his  hawk  on  his  fist ; 
and  even  a  lady  of  rank  did  not  think  herself  completely 
equipped,  in  riding  forth,  unless  she  had  a  tassel-gentel  held  by 
jesses  on  her  delicate  hand.  It  was  thought  in  those  excellent 
days,  according  to  an  old  writer,  '  quite  sufficient  for  noble- 
men to  winde  their  horn,  and  to  carry  their  hawke  fair ;  and 
lea^e  study  and  learning  to  the  children  of  mean  people.' " 

Knowing  the  good  Squire's  hobby,  therefore,  I  have  not  been 
surprised  at  finding  that,  among  the  various  recreations  of  for- 
mer times  which  he  has  endeavoured  to  revive  in  the  little  world 
in  which  he  rules,  he  has  bestowed  great  attention  on  the  noble 
art  of  falconry.  In  this  he,  of  course,  has  been  seconded  by  his 
indefatigable  coadjutor,  Master  Simon  ;  and  even  the  parson 
has  thrown  considerable  light  on  their  labours,  by  various  hints 
on  the  subject,  which  he  has  met  with  hi  old  English  works. 
As  to  the  precious  work  of  that  famous  dame,  Juliana  Barnes ; 
the  Gentleman's  Academie,  by  Markham ;  and  the  other  well- 
known  treatises  that  were  the  manuals  of  ancient  sportsmen, 
they  have  them  at  their  fingers'  ends;  but  they  have  more 
especially  studied  some  old  tapestry  in  the  house,  whereon  is 
represented  a  party  of  cavaliers  and  stately  dames,  with  doub- 
lets, caps,  and  flaunting  feathers,  mounted  on  horse,  with 
attendants  on  foot,  all  in  animated  pursuit  of  the  game. 


76  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

The  Squire  has  discountenanced  the  Trilling  of  any  hawks  in 
his  neighbourhood,  but  gives  a  liberal  bounty  for  all  that  are 
brought  him  alive ;  so  that  the  Hall  is  well  stocked  with  all 
kinds  of  birds  of  prey.  On  these  he  and  Master  Simon  have 
exhausted  their  patience  and  ingenuity,  endeavouring  to  ' '  re- 
claim" them,  as  it  is  termed,  and  to  train  them  up  for  the  sport ; 
but  they  have  met  with  continual  checks  and  disappointments. 
Their  feathered  school  has  turned  out  the  most  uiitractable  and 
graceless  scholars:  nor  is  it  the  least  of  their  trouble  to  drill 
the  retainers  who  were  to  act  as  ushers  under  them,  and  to 
take  immediate  charge  of  these  refractory  birds.  Old  Christy 
and  the  gamekeeper  both,  for  a  time,  set  their  faces  against 
the  whole  plan  of  education ;  Christy  having  been  nettled  at 
hearing  what  he  terms  a  wild-goose  chase  put  on  a  par  with  a 
fox-hunt ;  and  the  gamekeeper  having  always  been  accustomed 
to  look  upon  hawks  as  arrant  poachers,  which  it  was  his  duty 
to  shoot  down,  and  nail,  in  terrorem,  against  the  out-houses. 

Christy  has  at  length  taken  the  matter  in  hand,  but  has  done 
still  more  mischief  by  his  intermeddling.  He  is  as  positive  and 
wrong-headed  about  this,  as  he  is  about  hunting.  Master 
Simon  has  continual  disputes  with  him,  as  to  feeding  and 
training  the  hawks.  He  reads  to  him  long  passages  from  the 
old  authors  I  have  mentioned ;  but  Christy,  who  cannot  read, 
has  a  sovereign  contempt  for  all  book-knowledge,  and  persists 
in  treating  the  hawks  according  to  his  own  notions,  which  are 
drawn  from  his  experience,  in  younger  days,  in  the  rearing  of 
game-cocks. 

The  consequence  is,  that,  between  these  jarring  systems,  the 
poor  birds  have  had  a  most  trying  and  unhappy  time  of  it. 
Many  have  fallen  victims  to  Christy's  feeding  and  Master 
Simon's  physicking ;  for  the  latter  has  gone  to  work  secundum 
artem,  and  has  given  them  all  the  vomitings  and  scourings  laid 
down  in  the  books ;  never  were  poor  hawks  so  fed  and  phy- 
sicked before.  Others  have  been  lost  by  being  but  half  "re- 
claimed," or  tamed;  for  on  being  taken  into  the  field,  they 
have  "  raked"  after  the  game  quite  out  of  hearing  of  the  call, 
and  never  returned  to  school. 

All  these  disappointments  had  been  petty,  yet  sore  grievances 
to  the  Squire,  and  had  made  him  to  despond  about  success. 
He  has  lately,  however,  been  made  happy  by  the  receipt  of  a 
fine  Welsh  falcon,  which  Master  Simon  terms  a  stately  high- 
flyer. It  is  a  present  from  the  Squire's  friend,  Sir  Watkyn 
Williams  Wynne;  and  is,  no  doubt,  a  descendant  of  some 


FALCONRY.  77 

ancient  line  of  Welsh  princes  of  the  air,  that  have  long  lorded 
it  over  their  kingdom  of  clouds,  from  Wynnstay  to  the  very 
summit  of  Snowden,  or  the  brow  of  Penmanmawr. 

Ever  since  the  Squire  received  this  invaluable  present,  he 
has  been  as  impatient  to  sally  forth  and  make  proof  of  it,  as 
was  Don  Quixote  to  assay  his  suit  of  armour.  There  have  been 
some  demurs  as  to  whether  the  bird  was  hi  proper  health  and 
training;  but  these  have  been  overruled  by  the  vehement 
desire  to  play  with  a  new  toy ;  and  it  has  been  determined, 
right  or  wrong,  in  season  or  out  of  season,  to  have  a  day's 
sport  in  hawking  to-morrow. 

The  Hall,  as  usual,  whenever  the  Squire  is  about  to  make 
some  new  sally  on  his  hobby,  is  all  agog  with  the  thing.  Miss 
Templeton,  who  is  brought  up  in  reverence  for  all  her  guardi- 
an's humours,  has  proposed  to  be  of  the  party ;  and  Lady  Lilly- 
craft  has  talked  also  of  riding  out  to  the  scene  of  action  and 
looking  on.  This  has  gratified  the  old  gentleman  extremely ; 
he  hails  it  as  an  auspicious  omen  of  the  revival  of  falconry,  and 
does  not  despair  but  the  time  will  come  when  it  will  be  again 
the  pride  of  a  fine  lady  to  carry  about  a  noble  falcon,  in 
preference  to  a  parrot  or  a  lap-dog. 

I  have  amused  myself  with  the  bustling  preparations  of  that 
busy  spirit,  Master  Simon,  and  the  continual  thwartings  he 
receives  from  that  genuine  son  of  a  pepper-box,  old  Christy. 
They  have  had  half-a-dozen  consultations  about  how  the  hawk 
is  to  be  prepared  for  the  morning's  sport.  Old  Nimrod,  as 
usual,  has  always  got  in  a  pet,  upon  which  Master  Simon  has 
invariably  given  up  the  point,  observing,  in  a  good-humoured 
tone,  ' '  Well,  well,  have  it  your  own  way,  Christy ;  only  don't 
put  yourself  in  a  passion ;"  a  reply  which  always  nettles  the 
old  man  ten  times  more  than  ever. 


78  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL 


HAWKING. 

The  soaring  hawk,  from  fist  that  flias, 

Her  falconer  doth  constrain 
Some  times  to  range  the  ground  about 

To  find  her  out  again ; 
And  if  by  sight  or  sound  of  bell, 

His  falcon  he  may  see, 
Wo  ho !  he  cries,  with  cheerful  voice — 

The  gladdest  man  is  he.— Handful  of  Pleatant  Delitet. 

AT  an  early  hour  this  morning,  the  Hall  was  in  a  bustle  pre- 
paring for  the  sport  of  the  day.  I  heard  Master  Simon  whis- 
tling and  singing  under  my  window  at  sunrise,  as  he  was  pre- 
paring the  jesses  for  the  hawk's  legs,  and  could  distinguish 
now  and  then  a  stanza  of  one  of  his  favourite  old  ditties: 

"  In  peascod  time,  when  hound  to  horn 
Gives  note  that  buck  be  kill'd; 
And  little  boy,  with  pipe  of  corn, 
Is  tending  sheep  a-fteld,"  <£c. 

A  hearty  breakfast,  well  flanked  by  cold  meats,  was  served 
up  in  the  great  hall.  The  whole  garrison  of  retainers  and 
hangers-on  were  in  motion,  re-enforced  by  volunteer  idlers 
from  the  village.  The  horses  were  led  up  and  down  before  the 
door ;  every  body  had  something  to  say,  and  something  to  do, 
and  hurried  hither  and  thither ;  there  was  a  direful  yelping  of 
dogs ;  some  that  were  to  accompany  us  being  eager  to  set  off, 
and  others  that  were  to  stay  at  home  being  whipped  back  to 
their  kennels.  In  short,  for  once,  the  good  Squire's  mansion 
might  have  been  taken  as  a  good  specimen  of  one  of  the  ranti- 
pole  establishments  of  the  good  old  feudal  times. 

Breakfast  being  finished,  the  chivalry  of  the  Hall  prepared 
to  take  the  field.  The  fair  Julia  was  of  the  party,  in  a  hunting- 
dress,  with  a  light  plume  of  feathers  in  her  riding -hat.  As  she 
mounted  her  favourite  galloway,  I  remarked,  with  pleasure, 
that  old  Christy  forgot  his  usual  crustiness,  and  hastened  to 
adjust  her  saddle  and  bridle.  He  touched  his  cap,  as  she  smiled 
on  him,  and  thanked  him;  and  then,  looking  round  at  the 
other  attendants,  gave  a  knowing  nod  of  his  head,  in  which  I 
read  pride  and  exultation  at  the  charming  appearance  of  his 
pupil. 

Lady  Lillycraft  had  likewise  determined  to  witness  the  sport. 
She  was  dressed  in  her  broad  white  beaver,  tied  under  the  chin. 


HA  WRING.  79 

and  a  riding-habit  of  the  last  century.  She  rode  her  sleek, 
ambling  pony,  whose  motion  was  as  easy  as  a  rocking-chair ; 
and  was  gallantly  escorted  by  the  general,  who  looked  not 
unlike  one  of  the  doughty  heroes  in  the  old  prints  of  the  battle 
of  Blenheim.  The  parson,  likewise,  accompanied  her  on  the 
other  side;  for  this  was  a  learned  amusement,  in  which  he 
took  great  interest ;  and,  indeed,  had  given  much  counsel,  from 
his  knowledge  of  old  customs. 

At  length  every  thing  was  arranged,  and  off  we  set  from  the 
Hall.  The  exercise  on  horseback  puts  one  in  fine  spirits ;  and 
the  scene  was  gay  and  animating.  The  young  men  of  the  fam- 
ily accompanied  Miss  Templeton.  She  sat  lightly  and  grace- 
fully in  her  saddle,  her  plumes  dancing  and  waving  in  the  air ; 
and  the  group  had  a  charming  effect,  as  they  appeared  and  dis- 
appeared among  the  trees,  cantering  along,  with  the  bounding 
animation  of  youth.  The  Squire  and  Master  Simon  rode  to- 
gether, accompanied  by  old  Christy,  mounted  on  Pepper.  The 
latter  bore  the  hawk  on  his  fist,  as  he  insisted  the  bird  was 
most  accustomed  to  him.  There  was  a  rabble  rout  on  foot, 
composed  of  retainers  from  the  Hall,  and  some  idlers  from  the 
village,  with  two  or  three  spaniels,  for  the  purpose  of  starting 
the  game. 

A  kind  of  corps  de  reserve  came  on  quietly  in  the  rear,  com- 
posed of  Lady  Lillycraft,  General  Harbottle,  the  parson,  and  a 
fat  footman.  Her  ladyship  ambled  gently  along  on  her  pony, 
while  the  general,  mounted  on  a  tall  hunter,  looked  down  upon 
her  with  an  air  of  the  most  protecting  gallantry. 

For  my  part,  being  no  sportsman,  I  kept  with  this  last  party, 
or  rather  lagged  behind,  that  I  might  take  in  the  whole  pic- 
ture; and  the  parson  occasionally  slackened  his  pace,  and 
jogged  on  in  company  with  me. 

The  sport  led  us  at  some  distance  from  the  Hall,  in  a  soft 
meadow,  reeking  with  the  moist  verdure  of  spring.  A  little 
river  ran  through  it,  bordered  by  willows,  which  had  put  forth 
their  tender  early  foliage.  The  sportsmen  were  in  quest  of 
herons,  which  were  said  to  keep  about  this  stream. 

There  was  some  disputing,  already,  among  the  leaders  of  the 
sport.  The  Squire,  Master  Simon,  and  old  Christy,  came  every 
now  and  then  to  a  pause,  to  consult  together,  like  the  field  offi- 
cers in  an  army ;  and  I  saw,  by  certain  motions  of  the  head, 
that  Christy  was  as  positive  as  any  old  wrong-headed  German 
commander. 

As  we  were  prancing  up  this  quiet  meadow,  every  sound  we 


80  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

made  was  answered  by  a  distinct  echo,  from  the  sunny  wall  of 
an  old  building,  that  lay  on  the  opposite  margin  of  the 
stream ;  and  I  paused  to  listen  to  this  ' '  spirit  of  a  sound, "  which 
seems  to  love  such  quiet  and  beautiful  places.  The  parson  in- 
formed me  that  this  was  the  ruin  of  an  ancient  grange,  and 
was  supposed,  by  the  country  people,  to  be  haunted  by  a  dob- 
bie,  a  kind  of  rural  sprite,  something  like  Robin-good-fellow. 
They  often  fancied  the  echo  to  be  the  voice  of  the  dobbie 
answering  them,  and  were  rather  shy  of  disturbing  it  after 
dark.  He  added,  that  the  Squire  was  very  careful  of  this  ruin, 
on  account  of  the  superstition  connected  with  it.  As  I  con- 
sidered this  local  habitation  of  an  "  airy  nothing, "  I  called  to  mind 
the  fine  description  of  an  echo  in  Webster's  Duchess  of  Malfry: 

"  Yond  side  o'  th'  river  lies  a  wall, 

Piece  of  a  cloister,  which,  in  my  opinion, 
Gives  the  best  echo  that  you  ever  heard: 
80  plain  in  the  distinction  of  our  words, 
That  many  have  supposed  it  a  spirit 
That  answers." 

The  parson  went  on  to  comment  on  a  pleasing  and  fanciful 
appellation  which  the  Jews  of  old  gave  to  the  echo,  which  they 
called  Bath-kool,  that  is  to  say,  "the  daughter  of  the  voice;" 
they  considered  it  an  oracle,  supplying  in  the  second  temple 
the  want  of  the  urim  and  thummim,  with  which  the  first  was 
honoured.*  The  little  man  was  just  entering  very  largely  and 
learnedly  upon  the  subject,  when  we  were  startled  by  a  prodi- 
gious bawling,  shouting,  and  yelping.  A  flight  of  crows, 
alarmed  by  the  approach  of  our  forces,  had  suddenly  risen 
from  a  meadow ;  a  cry  was  put  up  by  the  rabble  rout  on  foot 
— "Now,  Christy!  now  is  your  time,  Christy!"  The  Squire 
and  Master  Simon,  who  were  beating  up  the  river  banks  in 
quest  of  a  heron,  called  out  eagerly  to  Christy  to  keep  quiet ; 
the  old  man,  vexed  and  bewildered  by  the  confusion  of  voices, 
completely  lost  his  head ;  in  his  flurry  he  slipped  off  the  hood, 
cast  off  the  falcon,  and  away  flew  the  crows,  and  away  soared 
the  hawk. 

I  had  paused  on  a  rising  ground,  close  to  Lady  Lillycraft  and 
her  escort,  from  whence  I  had  a  good  view  of  the  sport.  I  was 
pleased  with  the  appearance  of  the  party  in  the  meadow,  rid- 
ing along  in  the  direction  that  the  bird  flew ;  their  bright  beam- 
ing faces  turned  up  to  the  bright  skies  as  they  watched  the 

*  Better's  Monde  euchante. 


HAWKING.  81 

game ;  the  attendants  on  foot  scampering  along,  looking  up,  and 
calling  out ;  and  the  dogs  bounding  and  yelping  with  clamorous 
sympathy. 

The  hawk  had  singled  out  a  quarry  from  among  the  carrion 
crew.  It  was  curious  to  see  the  efforts  of  the  two  birds  to  get 
above  each  other;  one  to  make  the  fatal  swoop,  the  other  to 
avoid  it.  Now  they  crossed  athwart  a  bright  feathery  cloud, 
and  now  they  were  against  the  clear  blue  sky.  I  confess,  be- 
ing 110  sportsman,  I  was  more  interested  for  the  poor  bird  that 
was  striving  for  its  lif e,  than  for  the  hawk  that  was  playing 
the  part  of  a  mercenary  soldier.  At  length  the  hawk  got  the 
upper  hand,  and  made  a  rushing  stoop  at  her  quarry,  but  the 
latter  made  as  sudden  a  surge  downwards,  and  slanting  up 
again,  evaded  the  blow,  screaming  and  making  the  best  of  his 
way  for  a  dry  tree  on  the  brow  of  a  neighbouring  hill ;  while  the 
hawk,  disappointed  of  her  blow,  soared  up  again  into  the  air, 
and  appeared  to  be  "  raking"  off.  It  was  in  vain  old  Christy 
called,  and  whistled,  and  endeavoured  to  lure  her  down :  she 
paid  no  regard  to  him ;  and,  indeed,  his  calls  were  drowned  in 
the  shouts  and  yelps  of  the  army  of  militia  that  had  followed 
him  into  the  field. 

Just  then  an  exclamation  from  Lady  Lillycraft  made  me 
turn  my  head.  I  beheld  a  complete  confusion  among  the 
sportsmen  in  the  little  vale  below  us.  They  were  galloping 
and  running  towards  the  edge  of  a  bank ;  and  i  was  shocked  to 
see  Miss  Templeton's  horse  galloping  at  large  without  his  rider. 
I  rode  to  the  place  to  which  the  others  wei-e  hurrying,  and 
when  I  reached  the  bank,  which  almost  overhung  the  stream, 
I  saw  at  the  foot  of  it,  the  fair  Julia,  pale,  bleeding,  and  appar- 
ently lifeless,  supported  in  the  arms  of  her  frantic  lover. 

In  galloping  heedlessly  along,  with  her  eyes  turned  upward, 
she  had  unwarily  approached  too  near  the  bank ;  it  had  given 
way  with  her,  and  she  and  her  horse  had  been  precipitated  to 
the  pebbled  margin  of  the  river. 

I  never  saw  greater  consternation.  The  captain  was  dis- 
tracted; Lady  Lilly  craft  fainting;  the  Squire  in  dismay,  and 
Master  Simon  at  his  wit's  end.  The  beautiful  creature  at  length 
showed  signs  of  returning  life;  she  opened  her  eyes;  looked 
around  her  upon  the  anxious  group,  and  comprehending  in  a 
moment  the  nature  of  the  scene,  gave  a  sweet  smile,  and  put- 
ting her  hand  in  her  lover's,  exclaimed,  feebly,  "I  am  not  much 
hurt,  Guy !"  I  could  have  taken  her  to  my  heart  for  that  sin- 
gle exclamation. 


82  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

It  was  found,  indeed,  that  she  had  escaped  almost  miracu- 
lously, with  a  contusion  on  the  head,  a  sprained  ankle,  and 
some  slight  bruises.  After  her  wound  was  stanched,  she  was 
taken  to  a  neighbouring  cottage,  until  a  carriage  could  be  sum- 
moned to  convey  her  home;  and  when  this  had  arrived,  the 
cavalcade  which  had  issued  forth  so  gayly  on  this  enterprise, 
returned  slowly  and  pensively  to  the  Hall. 

I  had  been  charmed  by  the  generous  spirit  shown  by  this 
young  creature,  who,  amidst  pain  and  danger,  had  been  anxious 
only  to  relieve  the  distress  of  those  around  her.  I  was  grati- 
fied, therefore,  by  the  universal  concern  displayed  by  the 
domestics  on  our  return.  They  came  crowding  down  the 
avenue,  each  eager  to  render  assistance.  The  butler  stood 
ready  with  some  curiously  delicate  cordial ;  the  old  housekeeper 
was  provided  with  half-a-dozen  nostrums,  prepared  by  her  own 
hands,  according  to  the  family  receipt-book ;  while  her  niece, 
the  melting  Phoebe,  having  no  other  way  of  assisting,  stood 
wringing  her  hands,  and  weeping  aloud. 

The  most  material  effect  that  is  likely  to  follow  this  accident, 
is  a  postponement  of  the  nuptials,  which  were  close  at  hand. 
Though  I  commiserate  the  impatience  of  the  captain  on  that 
account,  yet  I  shall  not  otherwise  be  sorry  at  the  delay,  as  it 
will  give  me  a  better  opportunity  of  studying  the  characters 
here  assembled,  with  which  I  grow  more  and  more  entertained. 

I  cannot  but  perceive  that  the  worthy  Squire  is  quite  discon- 
certed at  the  unlucky  result  of  his  hawking  experiment,  and 
this  unfortunate  illustration  of  his  eulogy  on  female  equitation. 
Old  Christy,  too,  is  very  waspish,  having  been  sorely  twitted 
by  Master  Simon  for  having  let  his  hawk  fly  at  carrion.  As 
to  the  falcon,  in  the  confusion  occasioned  by  the  fair  Julia's 
disaster,  the  bird  was  totally  forgotten.  I  make  no  doubt  she 
has  made  the  best  of  her  way  back  to  the  hospitable  Hall  of  Sir 
Watkyn  Williams  Wynne;  and  may  very  possibly,  at  this 
present  writing,  be  pluming  her  wings  among  tlie  breezy 
bowers  of  Wynnstay. 


ST.  MARK'S  EVB.  83 


ST.  MARK'S  EVE. 

O  't  is  4  fearful  thing  to  be  no  more. 

Or  If  to  be,  to  wander  after  death ! 

To  walk  as  spirits  do,  in  brakes  all  day, 

And,  when  the  darkness  comes,  to  glide  in  paths 

That  lead  to  graves ;  and  in  the  silent  vault. 

Where  lies  your  own  pale  shroud,  to  hover  o'er  it, 

Striving  to  enter  your  forbidden  corpse. — DRYDEN. 

THE  conversation  this  evening  at  the  supper-table  took  a 
curious  turn,  on  the  subject  of  a  superstition,  formerly  very 
prevalent  in  this  part  of  the  country,  relative  to  the  present 
night  of  the  year,  which  is  the  Eve  of  St.  Mark's.  It  was  be- 
lieved, the  parson  informed  us,  that  if  any  one  would  watch  in 
the  church  porch  on  this  eve,  for  three  successive  years,  from 
eleven  to  one  o'clock  at  night,  he  would  see,  on  the  third  year, 
the  shades  of  those  of  the  parish  who  were  to  die  in  the  course 
of  the  year,  pass  by  him  into  church,  clad  in  their  usual  ap- 
parel. 

Dismal  as  such  a  sight  would  be,  he  assured  us  that  it  was 
formerly  a  frequent  thing  for  persons  to  make  the  necessary 
vigils.  He  had  known  more  than  one  instance  in  his  time. 
One  old  woman,  who  pretended  to  have  seen  this  phantom  pro- 
cession, was  an  object  of  great  awe  for  the  whole  year  after- 
wards, and  caused  much  uneasiness  and  mischief.  If  she  shook 
her  head  mysteriously  at  a  person,  it  was' like  a  death-warrant; 
and  she  had  nearly  caused  the  death  of  a  sick  person,  by  look- 
ing ruefully  in  at  the  window. 

There  was  also  an  old  man,  not  many  years  since,  of  a  sullen, 
melancholy  temperament,  who  had  kept  two  vigils,  and  began 
to  excite  some  talk  in  the  village,  when,  fortunately  for  the 
public  comfort,  he  died  shortly  after  his  third  watching;  very 
probably  from  a  cold  that  he  had  taken,  as  the  night  was  tem- 
pestuous. It  was  reported  about  the  village,  however,  that  he 
had  seen  his  own  phantom  pass  by  him  into  the  church. 

This  led  to  the  mention  of  another  superstition  of  an  equally 
strange  and  melancholy  kind,  which,  however,  is  chiefly  con- 
fined to  Wales.  It  is  respecting  what  are  called  corpse-candles, 
little  wandering  fires,  of  a  pale  bluish  light,  that  move  about 
like  tapers  hi  the  open  air,  and  are  supposed  to  designate  the 
way  some  corpse  is  to  go.  One  was  seen  at  Lanyler,  late  at 
night,  hovering  up  and  down,  along  the  bank  of  the  Istwith, 


84  B&ACSBRTD&B  IT  ALL. 

and  was  watched  by  the  neighbours  until  they  -were  tired,  and 
went  to  bed.  Not  long  afterwards  there  came  a  comely  coun- 
try lass,  from  Montgomeryshire,  to  see  her  friends,  who  dwelt 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river.  She  thought  to  ford  the 
stream  at  the  very  place  where  the  light  had  been  first  seen, 
but  was  dissuaded  on  account  of  the  height  of  the  flood.  She 
walked  to  and  fro  along  the  bank,  just  where  the  candle  had 
moved,  waiting  for  the  subsiding  of  the  water.  She  at  length 
endeavored  to  cross,  but  the  poor  girl  was  drowned  in  the 
attempt.* 

There  was  something  mournful  in  this  little  anecdote  of  rural 
superstition,  that  seemed  to  affect  all  the  listeners.  Indeed,  it 
is  curious  to  remark  how  completely  a  conversation  of  the  kind 
will  absorb  the  attention  of  a  circle,  and  sober  down  its  gayety, 
however  boisterous.  By  degrees  I  noticed  that  every  one  was 
leaning  forward  over  the  table,  with  eyes  earnestly  fixed  upon 
the  parson ;  and  at  the  mention  of  corpse-candles  which  had 
been  seen  about  the  chamber  of  a  young  lady  who  died  on  the 
eve  of  her  wedding-day,  Lady  Lillycraf t  turned  pale. 

I  have  witnessed  the  introduction  of  stories  of  the  kind  into 
various  evening  circles ;  they  were  often  commenced  in  jest, 
and  listened  to  with  smiles ;  but  I  never  knew  the  most  gay  or 
the  most  enlightened  of  audiences,  that  were  not,  if  the  con- 
versation continued  for  any  length  of  time,  completely  and 
solemnly  interested  in  it.  There  is,  I  believe,  a  degree  of  super- 
stition lurking  in  every  mind;  and  I  doubt  if  any  one  can 
thoroughly  examine  all  his  secret  notions  and  impulses,  with- 
out detecting  it,  hidden,  perhaps,  even  from  himself.  It  seems, 
in  fact,  to  be  a  part  of  our  nature,  liko  instinct  in  animals, 
acting  independently  of  our  reason.  It  is  often  found  existing 
in  lofty  natiires.  especially  those  that  are  poetical  and  aspiring. 
A  great  and  extraordinary  poet  of  our  day,  whose  life  and 
writings  evince  a  mind  siibject  to  powerfiil  exaltations,  is  said 
to  believe  in  omens  and  secret  intimations.  Caesar,  it  is  well 
known,  was  greatly  under  the  influence  of  such  belief;  and 
Napoleon  had  his  good  and  evil  days,  and  his  presiding  star. 

As  to  the  worthy  parson.  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  is  strongly 
inclined  to  superstition.  He  is  naturally  credulous,  and  passes 
so  much  of  his  time  searching  out  popular  traditions  and  super- 
natural talcs,  that  his  mind  has  probably  become  infected  by 
them.  He  has  lately  been  immersed  in  the  Demonolatria  of 

*AubrtjrXjlisceL 


ST.   MARK'S  EVE.  85 

Nicholas  Remigus,  concerning  supernatural  occurrences  in  Lor- 
raine, and  the  writings  of  Joachimus  Camerius,  called  by  Vos- 
sius  the  Phoenix  of  Germany ;  and  he  entertains  the  ladies  with 
stories  from  them,  that  make  them  almost  afraid  to  go  to  bed 
at  night.  I  have  been  charmed  myself  with  some  of  the  wild 
little  superstitions  which  he  has  adduced  from  Blefkenius, 
Schoffer,  and  others,  such  as  those  of  the  Laplanders  about  the 
domestic  spirits  which  wake  them  at  night,  and  summon  them 
to  go  and  fish ;  of  Thor,  the  deity  of  thunder,  who  has  power  of 
lif  e  and  death,  health  and  sickness,  and  who,  armed  with  the 
rainbow,  shoots  his  arrows  at  those  evil  demons  that  live  on 
the  tops  of  rocks  and  mountains,  and  infest  the  lakes ;  of  the 
Juhles  or  Juhlafolket,  vagrant  troops  of  spirits,  which  roam 
the  air,  and  wander  up  and  down  by  forests  and  mountains, 
and  the  moonlight  sides  of  hills. 

The  parson  never  openly  professes  his  belief  in  ghosts,  but  I 
have  remarked  that  he  has  a  suspicious  way  of  pressing  great 
names  into  the  defence  of  supernatural  doctrines,  and  making 
philosophers  and  saints  fight  for  him.  He  expatiates  at  large 
on  the  opinions  of  the  ancient  philosophers  about  larves,  or  noc- 
turnal phantoms,  the  spirits  of  the  wicked,  which  wandered 
like  exiles  about  the  earth;  and  about  those  spiritual  beings 
which  abode  in  the  air,  but  descended  occasionally  to  earth,  and 
mingled  among  mortals,  acting  as  agents  between  them  and  the 
gods.  He  quotes  also  from  Philo  the  rabbi,  the  contemporary 
of  the  apostles,  and,  according  to  some,  the  friend  of  St.  Paul, 
who  says  that  the  air  is  full  of  spirits  of  different  ranks ;  some 
destined  to  exist  for  a  time  in  mortal  bodies,  from  which  being 
emancipated,  they  pass  and  repass  between  heaven  and  earth, 
as  agents  or  messengers  in  the  service  of  the  deity. 

But  the  worthy  little  man  assumes  a  bolder  tone,  when  he 
quotes  from  the  fathers  of  the  church ;  such  as  St.  Jerome,  who 
gives  it  as  the  opinion  of  all  the  doctors,  that  the  air  is  filled 
with  powers  opposed  to  each  other ;  and  Lactantius,  who  says 
that  corrupt  and  dangerous  spirits  wander  over  the  earth,  and 
seek  to  console  themselves  for  their  own  fall  by  effecting  the 
ruin  of  the  human  race ;  and  Clemens  Alexandrinus,  who  is  of 
opinion  that  the  souls  of  the  blessed  have  knowledge  of  what 
passes  among  men,  the  same  as  angels  have. 

I  am  now  alone  in  my  chamber,  but  these  themes  have  taken 
such  hold  of  my  imagination,  that  I  cannot  sleep.  The  room  in 
which  I  sit  is  just  fitted  to  foster  such  a  state  of  mind.  The 
walls  are  hung  with  tapestry,  the  figures  of  which  are  faded, 


86  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

and  look  like  unsubstantial  shapes  melting  away  from  sight. 
Over  the  fire-place  is  the  portrait  of  a  lady,  who,  according  to 
the  housekeeper's  tradition,  pined  to  death  for  the  loss  of  her 
lover  in  the  battle  of  Blenheim.  She  has  a  most  pale  and  plain- 
tive countenance,  and  seems  to  fix  her  eyes  mournfully  upon 
me.  The  family  have  long  since  retired.  I  have  heard  their 
steps  die  away,  and  the  distant  doors  clap  to  after  them.  The ! 
murmur  of  voices,  and  the  peal  of  remote  laughter,  no  longer 
reach  the  ear.  The  clock  from  the  church,  in  which  so  many 
of  the  former  inhabitants  of  this  house  lie  buried,  has  chimed 
the  awful  hour  of  midnight. 

I  have  sat  by  the  window  and  mused  upon  the  dusky  land- 
scape, watching  the  lights  disappearing,  one  by  one,  from  the 
distant  village ;  and  the  moon  rising  in  her  silent  majesty,  and 
leading  up  all  the  silver  pomp  of  heaven.  As  I  have  gazed  upon 
these  quiet  groves  and  shadowy  lawns,  silvered  over,  and  im- 
perfectly lighted  by  streaks  of  dewy  moonshine,  my  mind  has 
been  crowded  by  "thick-coming  fancies"  concerning  those 
spiritual  beings  which 

"walk  the  earth 

Unseen,  both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep." 

Are  there,  indeed,  such  beings?  Is  this  space  between  us  and 
the  deity  filled  up  by  innumerable  orders  of  spiritual  beings, 
forming  the  same  gradations  between  the  human  soul  and  di- 
vine perfection,  that  we  see  prevailing  from  humanity  down- 
wards to  the  meanest  insect?  It  is  a  sublime  and  beautiful  doc- 
trine, inculcated  by  the  early  fathers,  that  there  are  guardian 
angels  appointed  to  watch  over  cities  and  nations ;  to  take  care 
of  the  welfare  of  good  men,  and  to  guard  and  guide  the  steps 
of  helpless  infancy.  "Nothing,"  says  St.  Jerome,  "gives  us  a 
greater  idea  of  the  dignity  of  our  soul,  than  that  God  has  given 
each  of  us,  at  the  moment  of  our  birth,  an  angel  to  have  care 
of  it." 

Even  the  doctrine  of  departed  spirits  returning  to  visit  the 
scenes  and  beings  which  were  dear  to  them  during  the  body's 
existence,  though  it  has  been  debased  by  the  absurd  supersti- 
tions of  the  vulgar,  in  itself  is  awfully  solemn  and  sublime. 
However  lightly  it  may  be  ridiculed,  yet  the  attention  involun- 
tarily yielded  to  it  whenever  it  is  made  the  subject  of  serious 
discussion ;  its  prevalence  in  all  ages  and  countries,  and  even 
among  newly-discovered  nations,  that  have  had  no  previous  in- 
terchange of  thought  with  other  parts  of  the  world,  prove  it  to 


ST.  MARK'S  EVE.  87 

be  one  of  those  mysteries,  and  almost  instinctive  beliefs,  to 
which,  if  left  to  ourselves,  we  should  naturally  incline. 

In  spite  of  all  the  pride  of  reason  and  philosophy,  a  vague 
doubt  will  still  lurk  in  the  mind,  and  perhaps  will  never  be  per- 
fecfly  eradicated;  as  it  is  concerning  a  matter  that  does  not 
admit  of  positive  demonstration.  Every  thing  connected  with 
our  spiritual  nature  is  full  of  doubt  and  difficulty.  "We  are 
fearfully  and  wonderfully  made ;"  we  are  surrounded  by  mys- 
teries, and  we  are  mysteries  even  to  ourselves.  Who  yet  has 
been  able  to  comprehend  and  describe  the  nature  of  the  soul, 
its  connection  with  the  body,  or  in  what  part  of  the  frame  it  is 
situated?  We  know  merely  that  it  does  exist;  but  whence  it 
came,  and  when  it  entered  into  us,  and  how  it  is  retained,  and 
where  it  is  seated,  and  how  it  operates,  are  all  matters  of  mere 
speculation,  and  contradictory  theories.  If,  then,  we  are  thus 
ignorant  of  this  spiritual  essence,  even  while  it  forms  a  part  of 
ourselves,  and  is  continually  present  to  our  consciousness,  how 
can  we  pretend  to  ascertain  or  to  deny  its  powers  and  opera- 
tions when  released  from  its  fleshy  prison-house?  It  is  more 
the  manner,  therefore,  in  which  this  superstition  has  been  de- 
graded, than  its  intrinsic  absurdity,  that  has  brought  it  into 
contempt.  Eaise  it  above  the  frivolous  purposes  to  which  it 
has  been  applied,  strip  it  of  the  gloom  and  horror  with  which  it 
has  been  surrounded,  and  there  is  none  of  the  whole  circle  of 
visionary  creeds  that  could  more  delightfully  elevate  the  im- 
agination, or  more  tenderly  affect  the  heart.  It  would  become 
a  sovereign  comfort  at  the  bed  of  death,  soothing  the  bitter 
tear  wrung  from  us  by  the  agony  of  our  mortal  separation. 
What  could  be  more  consoling  than  the  idea,  that  the  souls  of 
those  whom  we  once  loved  were  permitted  to  return  and  watch 
over  our  welfare? — that  affectionate  and  guardian  spirits  sat  by 
our  pillows  when  we  slept,  keeping  a  vigil  over  our  most  help- 
less hours? — that  beauty  and  innocence  which  had  languished 
into  the  tomb,  yet  smiled  unseen  around  us,  revealing  them- 
selves in  those  blest  dreams  wherein  we  live  over  again  the 
hours  of  past  endearment?  A  belief  of  this  kind  would,  I  should 
think,  be  a  new  incentive  to  virtue ;  rendering  us  circumspect 
even  in  our  most  secret  moments,  from  the  idea  that  those  we 
once  loved  and  honoured  were  invisible  witnesses  of  all  our 
actions. 

It  would  take  away,  too,  from  that  loneliness  and  destitution 
which  we  are  apt  to  feel  more  and  more  as  we  get  on  in  our  pil- 
grimage through  the  wilderness  of  this  world,  and  find  that 


88  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

those  who  set  forward  with  us,  lovingly  and  cheerily,  on  the 
journey,  have,  one  by  one,  dropped  away  from  our  side.  Place 
the  superstition  in  this  light,  and  I  confess  I  should  like  to  be  a 
believer  in  it.  I  see  nothing  in  it  that  is  incompatible  with  the 
tender  and  merciful  nature  of  our  religion,  nor  revolting  to  the 
wishes  and  affections  of  the  heart. 

Tnere  are  departed  beings  that  I  have  loved  as  I  never  again 
shall  love  in  this  world ; — that  have  loved  me  as  I  never  again 
shall  be  loved !  If  such  beings  do  ever  retain  in  their  blessed 
spheres  the  attachments  which  they  felt  on  earth— if  they  take 
an  interest  in  the  poor  concerns  of  transient  mortality,  and  aro 
permitted  to  hold  communion  with  those  whom  they  have  loved 
on  earth,  I  feel  as  if  now,  at  this  deep  hour  of  night,  in  this 
silence  and  solitude,  I  could  receive  their  visitation  with  the 
most  solemn,  but  unalloyed  delight. 

In  truth,  such  visitations  would  be  too  happy  for  this  world ; 
they  would  be  incompatible  with  the  nature  of  this  imperfect 
state  of  being.  We  are  here  placed  in  a  mere  scene  of  spiritual 
thraldom  and  restraint.  Our  souls  are  shut  in  and  limited  by 
bounds  and  barriers ;  shackled  by  mortal  infirmities,  and  sub- 
ject to  all  the  gross  impediments  of  matter.  In  vain  would 
they  seek  to  act  independently  of  the  body,  and  to  mingle 
together  in  spiritual  intercourse.  They  can  only  act  here 
through  their  fleshy  organs.  Their  earthly  loves  are  made  up 
of  transient  embraces  and  long  separations.  The  most  intimate 
friendship,  of  what  brief  and  scattered  portions  of  time  does  it 
consist !  We  take  each  other  by  the  hand,  and  we  exchange  a 
few  words  and  looks  of  kindness,  and  we  rejoice  together  for  a 
few  short  moments — and  then  days,  months,  years  intervene, 
and  we  see  and  know  nothing  of  each  other.  Or,  granting  that 
we  dwell  together  for  the  full  season  of  this  our  mortal  life,  the 
grave  soon  closes  its  gates  between  us,  and  then  our  spirits  are 
doomed  to  remain  in  separation  and  widowhood;  until  they 
meet  again  in  that  more  perfect  state  of  being,  where  soul  wiJl 
dwell  with  soul  in  blissful  communion,  and  there  will  be  neither 
death,  nor  absence,  nor  any  thing  else  to  interrupt  our  felicity. 


***  In  the  foregoing  paper,  I  have  alluded  to  the  writings  of 
some  of  the  old  Jewish  rabbins.  They  abound  with  wild 
theories;  but  among  them  are  many  truly  poetical  flights;  and 
their  ideas  are  often  very  beautifully  expressed.  Their  specu- 
lations on  the  nature  of  angels  are  curious  and  fanciful,  though 
much  resembling  the  doctrines  of  the  ancient  philosophers.  In 


GENTILITY.  89 

the  writings  of  the  Rabbi  Eleazer  is  an  account  of  the  tempta- 
tion of  our  first  parents,  and  the  fall  of  the  angels,  which  the 
parson  pointed  out  to  me  as  having  probably  furnished  some  of 
the  groundwork  for  "  Paradise  Lost." 

According  to  Eleazer,  the  ministering  angels  said  to  the 
Deity,  "  What  is  there  in  man,  that  thou  makest  him  of  such 
importance  ?  Is  he  any  thing  else  than  vanity  ?  for  he  can 
scarcely  reason  a  little  on  terrestrial  things."  To  which  God 
replied,  ' '  Do  you  imagine  that  I  will  be  exalted  and  glorified 
only  by  you  here  above  ?  I  am  the  same  below  that  I  am  here. 
Who  is  there  among  you  that  can  call  all  the  creatures  by  their 
names  ?"  There  was  none  found  among  them  that  could  do  so. 
At  that  moment  Adam  arose,  and  called  all  the  creatures  by 
their  names.  Seeing  which,  the  ministering  angels  said  among 
themselves,  ' '  Let  us  consult  together  how  we  may  cause  Adam 
to  sin  against  the  Creator,  otherwise  he  will  not  fail  to  become 
our  master." 

Samtnael,  who  was  a  great  prince  in  the  heavens,  was  present 
at  this  council,  with  the  saints  of  the  first  order,  and  the  sera- 
phim of  six  bands.  Sammael  chose  several  out  of  the  twelve 
orders  to  accompany  him,  and  descended  below,  for  the  purpose 
of  visiting  all  the  creatures  which  God  had  created.  He  found 
none  more  cunning  and  more  fit  to  do  evil  than  the  serpent. 

The  Rabbi  then  treats  of  the  seduction  and  the  fall  of  man ; 
of  the  consequent  fall  of  the  demon,  and  the  punishment  which 
God  inflicted  on  Adam,  Eve,  and  the  serpent.  "  He  made  them 
all  come  before  him ;  pronounced  nine  maledictions  on  Adam 
and  Eve,  and  condemned  them  to  suffer  death ;  and  he  precipi- 
tated Sammael  and  all  his  band  from  heaven.  He  cut  off  the 
feet  of  the  serpent,  which  had  before  the  figure  of  a  camel 
(Sammael  having  been  mounted  on  him),  and  he  cursed  him 
among  all  beasts  and  animals." 


GENTILITY. 


•  True  Gentrie  standeth  in  the  trade 


Of  virtuous  life,  not  in  the  fleshy  line; 
For  bloud  is  knit,  but  Gentrie  is  divine. 

— Mirror  for  Magistrates. 

I  HAVE  mentioned  some  peculiarities  of  the  Squire  in  the 
education  of  his  sons;  but  I  would  not  have  it  thought  that  his 


90  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

instructions  were  directed  chiefly  to  their  personal  accomplish- 
ments. He  took  great  pains  also  to  form  their  minds,  and  to 
inculcate  what  he  calls  good  old  English  principles,  such  as  are 
laid  down  in  the  writings  of  Peachem  and  his  contemporaries. 
There  is  one  author  of  whom  he  cannot  speak  without  indigna- 
tion, which  is  Chesterfield.  He  avers  that  he  did  much,  for  a 
time,  to  injure  the  true  national  character,  and  to  introduce, 
instead  of  open,  manly  sincerity,  a  hollow,  perfidious  courtli-, 
ness.  ''His  maxims,"  he  affirms,  "were  calculated  to  chill 
the  delightful  enthusiasm  of  youth ;  to  make  them  ashamed  of 
that  romance  which  is  the  dawn  of  generous  manhood,  and  to 
impart  to  them  a  cold  polish  and  a  premature  worldliness. 

"  Many  of  Lord  Chesterfield's  maxims  would  make  a  young 
man  a  mere  man  of  pleasure ;  but  an  English  gentleman  should 
not  be  a  mere  man  of  pleasure.  He  has  no  right  to  such  selfish 
indulgence.  His  ease,  his  leisure,  his  opulence,  are  debts  due 
to  his  country,  which  he  must  ever  stand  ready  to  discharge. 
He  should  be  a  man  at  all  points;  simple,  frank,  courteous, 
intelligent,  accomplished,  and  informed ;  upright,  intrepid,  and 
disinterested ;  one  that  can  mingle  among  freemen ;  that  can 
cope  with  statesmen ;  that  can  champion  his  country  and  its 
rights,  either  at  home  or  abroad.  In  a  country  like  England, 
where  there  is  such  free  and  unbounded  scope  for  the  exertion 
of  intellect,  and  where  opinion  and  example  have  such  weight 
with  the  people,  every  gentleman  of  fortune  and  leisure  should 
feel  himself  bound  to  employ  himself  in  some  way  towards 
promoting  the  prosperity  or  glory  of  the  nation.  In  a  country 
where  intellect  and  action  are  trammelled  and  restrained,  men 
of  rank  and  fortune  may  become  idlers  and  triflers  with  im- 
punity; but  an  English  coxcomb  is  inexcusable;  and  this, 
perhaps,  is  the  reason  why  he  is  the  most  offensive  and  insup- 
portable coxcomb  in  the  world." 

The  Squire,  as  Frank  Bracebridge  informs  me,  would  often 
hold  forth  in  this  manner  to  his  sons,  when  they  were  about 
leaving  the  paternal  roof ;  one  to  travel  abroad,  one  to  go  to 
the  army,  and  one  to  the  university.  He  used  to  have  them 
with  him  in  the  library,  which  is  hung  with  the  portraits  of 
Sidney,  Surrey,  Raleigh,  Wyat,  and  others.  "Look  at  those 
models  of  true  English  gentlemen,  my  sons,"  he  would  say 
with  enthusiasm ;  "those  were  men  that  wreathed  the  graces 
of  the  most  delicate  and  refined  taste  around  the  stern  virtues 
of  the  soldier;  that  mingled  what  was  gentle  and  gracious, 
with  what  was  hardy  and  manly;  that  possessed  the  true 


GENTILITY.  91 

chivalry  of  spirit,  which  is  the  exalted  essence  of  manhood. 
They  are  the  lights  by  which  the  youth  of  the  country  should 
array  themselves.  They  were  the  patterns  and  idols  of  their 
country  at  home;  they  were  the  illustrators  of  its  dignity 
abroad.  'Surrey,'  says  Camden,  '  was  the  first  nobleman  that 
illustrated  his  high  birth  with  the  beauty  of  learning.  He  was 
acknowledged  to  be  the  gallantest  man,  the  politest  lover,  and 
the  completest  gentleman  of  his  time. '  And  as  to  Wyal,  his 
friend  Surrey  most  amiably  testifies  of  him,  that  his  person 
was  majestic  and  beautiful,  his  visage  '  stern  and  mild ;'  that 
he  sung,  and  played  the  lute  with  remarkable  sweetness ;  spoke 
foreign  languages  with  grace  and  fluency,  and  possessed  an 
inexhaustible  fund  of  wit.  And  see  what  a  high  commenda- 
tion  is  passed  upon  these  illustrious  friends :  '  They  were  the 
two  chieftains,  who,  having  travelled  into  Italy,  and  there 
tasted  the  sweet  and  stately  measures  and  style  of  the  Italian 
poetry,  greatly  polished  our  rude  and  homely  manner  of  vulgar 
poetry  from  what  it  had  been  before,  and  therefore  may  be 
justly  called  the  reformers  of  our  English  poetry  and  style.' 
And  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  who  has  left  us  such  monuments  of 
elegant  thought,  and  generous  sentiment,  and  who  illustrated 
his  chivalrous  spirit  so  gloriously  in  the  field.  And  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  the  elegant  courtier,  the  intrepid  soldier,  the  enter- 
prising discoverer,  the  enlightened  philosopher,  the  magnani- 
mous martyr.  These  are  the  men  for  English  gentlemen  to 
study.  Chesterfield,  with  his  cold  and  courtly  maxims,  would 
have  chilled  and  impoverished  such  spirits.  He  would  have 
blighted  all  the  budding  romance  of  their  temperaments. 
Sidney  would  never  have  written  his  Arcadia,  nor  Surrey 
have  challenged  the  world  in  vindication  of  the  beauties  of  his 
Geraldine.  "These  are  the  men,  my  sons,"  the  Squire  will 
continue,  "that  show  to  what  our  national  character  may  be 
exalted,  when  its  strong  and  powerful  qualities  are  duly 
wrought  up  and  refined.  The  solidest  bodies  are  capable  of 
the  highest  polish;  and  there  is  no  character  that  may  be 
wrought  to  a  more  exquisite  and  unsullied  brightness,  than 
that  of  the  true  English  gentleman." 

When  Guy  was  about  to  depart  for  the  army,  the  Squire 
again  took  him  aside,  and  gave  him  a  long  exhortation.  He 
warned  him  against  that  affectation  of  cool-blooded  indiffer- 
ence, which  he  was  told  was  cultivated  by  the  young  British 
officers,  among  whom  it  was  a  study  to  "sink  the  soldier"  in 
the  mere  man  of  fashion.  "A  soldier,"  said  he,  "without 


92  BRACEBRIDOB  HALL. 

pride  and  enthusiasm  in  his  profession,  is  a  mere  sanguinary 
hireling.  Nothing  distinguishes  him  from  the  mercenary 
bravo,  but  a  spirit  of  patriotism,  or  a  thirst  for  glory.  It  is  the 
fashion  now-a-days,  my  son,"  said  he,  "  to  laugh  at  the  spirit  of 
chivalry ;  when  that  spirit  is  really  extinct,  the  profession  of 
the  soldier  becomes  a  mere  trade  of  blood."  He  then  set 
before  him  the  conduct  of  Edward  the  Black  Prince,  who  is  his 
mirror  of  chivalry;  valiant,  generous,  affable,  humane;  gal- 
lant in  the  field.  But  when  he  came  to  dwell  on  his  courtesy 
toward  his  prisoner,  the  king  of  France ;  how  he  received  him 
in  his  tent,  rather  as  a  conqueror  than  as  a  captive ;  attended 
on  him  at  table  like  one  of  his  retinue ;  rode  uncovered  beside 
him  on  his  entry  into  London,  mounted  on  a  common  palfrey, 
while  his  prisoner  was  mounted  in  state  on  a  white  steed  of 
stately  beauty ;  the  tears  of  enthusiasm  stood  in  the  old  gen- 
tleman's eyes. 

Finally,  on  taking  leave,  the  good  Squire  put  in  his  son's 
hands,  as  a  manual,  one  of  his  favourite  old  volumes,  the  life  of 
the  Chevalier  Bayard,  by  Godef roy ;  on  a  blank  page  of  which 
he  had  written  an  extract  from  the  Morte  d' Arthur,  containing 
the  eulogy  of  Sir  Ector  over  the  body  of  Sir  Launcelot  of  the 
Lake,  which  the  Squire  considers  as  comprising  the  excellen- 
cies of  a  true  soldier.  "Ah,  Sir  Launcelot!  thou  wert  head 
of  all  Christian  knights ;  now  there  thou  liest :  thou  wert  never 
matched  of  none  earthly  knights-hands.  And  thou  wert  the> 
curtiest  knight  that  ever  bare  shield.  And  thou  wert  the 
truest  friend  to  thy  lover  that  ever  bestrood  horse ;  and  thou 
wert  the  truest  lover  of  a  sinfull  man  that  ever  loved  womj?n. 
And  thou  wert  the  kindest  man  that  ever  strook  with  sword ; 
and  thou  wert  the  goodliest  person  that  ever  came  among  the 
presse  of  knights.  And  thou  wert  the  meekest  man  and  the 
gentlest  that  ever  eate  in  hall  among  ladies.  And  thou  wert 
the  sternest  knight  to  thy  mortal  foe  that  ever  put  speare  in 
the  rest." 


FORTUNE-TELLING.  93 


FORTUNE-TELLING. 

Each  city,  each  town,  and  every  village, 

Affords  us  either  an  alms  or  pillage. 

And  if  the  weather  be  cold  and  raw, 

Then  in  a  barn  we  tumble  on  straw. 

If  warm  and  fair,  by  yea-cock  and  nay -cock, 

The  fields  will  afford  us  a  hedge  or  a  hay-cock.—  Merry  Beggars. 

As  I  was  walking  one  evening  with  the  Oxonian,  Master 
Simon,  and  the  general,  in  a  meadow  not  far  from  the  village, 
we  heard  the  sound  of  a  fiddle,  rudely  played,  and  looking  in 
the  direction  from  whence  it  came,  we  saw  a  thread  of  smoke 
curling  up  from  among  the  trees.  The  sound  of  music  is 
always  attractive ;  for,  wherever  there  is  music,  there  is  good- 
humour,  or  good-will.  We  passed  along  a  footpath,  and  had  a 
peep  through  a  break  in  the  hedge,,  at  the  musician  and  his 
party,  when  the  Oxonian  gave  us  a  wink,  and  told  us  that  if 
we  would  follow  him  we  should  have  some  sport. 

It  proved  to  be  a  gipsy  encampment,  consisting  of  three  or 
four  little  cabins,  or  tents,  made  of  blankets  and  sail-cloth, 
spread  over  hoops  that  were  stuck  in  the  ground.  It  was  on 
one  side  of  a  green  lane,  close  under  a  hawthorn  hedge,  with 
a  broad  beech-tree  spreading  above  it.  A  small  rill  tinkled 
along  close  by,  through  the  fresh  sward,  that  looked  like  a 
carpet. 

A  tea-kettle  was  hanging  by  a  crooked  piece  of  iron,  over  a 
fire  made  from  dry  sticks  and  leaves,  and  two  old  gipsies,  in 
red  cloaks,  sat  crouched  on  the  grass,  gossiping  over  their 
evening  cup  of  tea ;  for  these  creatures,  though  they  li ve  in  the 
open  air,  have  their  ideas  of  fireside  comforts.  There  were 
two  or  three  children  sleeping  on  the  straw  with  which  the 
tents  were  littered ;  a  couple  of  donkeys  were  grazing  in  the 
lane,  and  a  thievish-looking  dog  was  lying  before  the  fire. 
Some  of  the  younger  gipsies  were  dancing  to  the  music  of  a 
fiddle,  played  by  a  tall,  slender  stripling,  in  an  old  frock-coat, 
with  a  peacock's  feather  stuck  in  his  hat-band. 

As  we  approached,  a  gipsy  girl,  with  a  pair  of  fine,  roguish 
eyes,  came  up,  and,  as  usual,  offered  to  tell  our  fortunes.  I 
could  not  but  admire  a  certain  degree  of  slattern  elegance  about 
the  baggage.  Her  long  black  silken  hair  was  curiously  plaited 
in  numerous  small  braids,  and  negligently  put  up  in  a  pic- 


04  BRACEBKIDGE  HALL. 

turesque  style  that  a  painter  might  have  been  proud  to  have 
devised. 

Her  dress  was  of  figured  chintz,  rather  ragged,  and  not  over- 
clean  but  of  a  variety  of  most  harmonious  and  agreeable  colours ; 
for  these  beings  have  a  singularly  fine  eye  for  colours.  Her 
straw  hat  was  in  her  hand,  and  a  red  cloak  thrown  over  one  arm. 

The  Oxonian  offered  at  once  to  have  his  fortune  told,  and  the 
girl  began  with  the  usual  volubility  of  her  race ;  but  he  drew 
her  on  one  side,  near  the  hedge,  as  he  said  he  had  no  idea  of 
having  his  secrets  overheard.  I  saw  he  was  talking  to  her 
instead  of  she  to  him,  and  by  his  glancing  towards  us  now  and 
then,  that  he  was  giving  the  baggage  some  private  hints. 
When  they  returned  to  us,  he  assumed  a  very  serious  air. 
"Zounds!"  said  he,  "it's  very  astonishing  how  these  creatures 
come  by  their  knowledge ;  this  girl  has  told  me  some  things 
that  I  thought  no  one  knew  but  myself !"  The  girl  now  assailed 
the  general:  "Come,  your  honour,"  said  she,  "I  see  by  your 
face  you're  a  lucky  man ;  but  you're  not  happy  in  your  mind ; 
you're  not,  indeed,  sir;  but  have  a  good  heart,  and  give  me  a 
good  piece  of  silver,  and  I'll  tell  you  a  nice  fortune." 

The  general  had  received  all  her  approaches  with  a  banter, 
and  had  suffered  her  to  get  hold  of  his  hand;  but  at  the 
mention  of  the  piece  of  silver,  he  hemmed,  looked  grave,  and, 
turning  to  us,  asked  if  we  had  not  better  continue  our  walk. 
"Come,  my  master,"  said  the  girl,  archly,  "you'd  not  be  in 
such  a  hurry,  if  you  knew  all  that  I  could  tell  you  about  a  fair 
lady  that  has  a  notion  for  you.  Come,  sir;  old  love  burns 
strong;  there's  many  a  one  comes  to  see  weddings,  that  go 
away  brides  themselves." — Here  the  girl  whispered  something 
in  a  low  voice,  at  which  the  general  coloured  up,  was  a  little  flut- 
tered, and  suffered  himself  to  be  drawn  aside  under  the  hedge, 
where  he  appeared  to  listen  to  her  with  great  earnestness,  and 
at  the  end  paid  her  half-a-crown  with  the  air  of  a  man  that 
has  got  the  worth  of  his  money.  The  girl  next  made  her  attack 
upon  Master  Simon,  who,  however,  was  too  old  a  bird  to  be 
caught,  knowing  that  it  would  end  in  an  attack  upon  his  purse, 
about  which  he  is  a  little  sensitive.  As  he  has  a  great  notion, 
however,  of  being  considered  a  royster,  he  chucked  her  under 
the  chin,  played  her  off  with  rather  broad  jokes,  and  put  on 
something  of  the  rake-helly  air,  that  we  see  now  and  then 
assumed  on  the  stage,  by  the  sad-boy  gentleman  of  the  old 
school.  "Ah,  your  honour,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  malicious  leer, 
"you  were  not  in  such  a  tantrum  last  year,  when  I  told  you 


FORTUNE-TELLING.  95 

about  the  widow,  you  know  who ;  but  if  you  had  taken  a  friend's 
advice,  you'd  never  have  come  away  from  Doncaster  races  with 
a  flea  in  your  ear !"  There  was  a  secret  sting  in  this  speech, 
that  seemed  quite  to  disconcert  Master  Simon.  He  jerked 
away  his  hand  in  a  pet,  smacked  his  whip,  whistled  to  his  dogs, 
and  intimated  that  it  was  high  time  to  go  home.  The  girl,  how- 
ever, was  determined  not  to  lose  her  harvest.  She  now  turned 
upon  me,  and,  as  I  have  a  weakness  of  spirit  where  there  is  a 
pretty  face  concerned,  she  soon  wheedled  me  out  of  my  money, 
and,  hi  return,  read  me  a  fortune ;  which,  if  it  prove  true,  and  I 
am  determined  to  believe  it,  will  make  me  one  of  the  luckiest 
men  in  the  chronicles  of  Cupid. 

I  saw  that  the  Oxonian  was  at  the  bottom  of  all  this  oracular 
mystery,  and  was  disposed  to  amuse  himself  with  the  general, 
whose  tender  approaches  to  the  widow  have  attracted  the 
notice  of  the  wag.  I  was  a  little  curious,  however,  to  know 
the  meaning  of  the  dark  hints  which  had  so  suddenly  discon- 
certed Master  Simon ;  and  took  occasion  to  fall  in  the  rear  with 
the  Oxonian  on  our  way  home,  when  he  laughed  heartily  at  my 
questions,  and  gave  me  ample  information  on  the  subject. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  is,  that  Master  Simon  has  met  with 
a  sad  rebuff  since  my  Christmas  visit  to  the  Hall.  He  used  at 
that  tune  to  be  joked  about  a  widow,  a  fine  dashing  woman,  as 
he  privately  informed  me.  I  had  supposed  the  pleasure  he 
betrayed  on  these  occasions  resulted  from  the  usual  fondness 
of  old  bachelors  for  being  teased  about  getting  married,  and 
about  flirting,  and  being  fickle  and  false-hearted.  I  am  assured, 
however,  that  Master  Simon  had  really  persuaded  himself  the 
widow  had  a  kindness  for  him ;  in  consequence  of  which  he 
had  been  at  some  extraordinary  expense  in  new  clothes,  and  had 
actually  got  Frank  Bracebridge  to  order  him  a  coat  from  Stultz. 
He  began  to  throw  out  hints  about  the  importance  of  a  man's 
settling  himself  in  life  before  he  grew  old ;  he  would  look  grave, 
whenever  the  widow  and  matrimony  were  mentioned  in  the 
same  sentence ;  and  privately  asked  the  opinion  of  the  Squire 
and  parson  about  the  prudence  of  marrying  a  widow  with  a 
rich  jointure,  but  who  had  several  children. 

An  important  member  of  a  great  family  connexion  cannot 
harp  much  upon  the  theme  of  matrimony,  without  its  taking 
wind ;  and  it  soon  got  buzzed  about  that  Mr.  Simon  Bracebridge 
was  actually  gone  to  Doncaster  races,  with  a  new  horse;  but 
that  he  meant  to  return  in  a  curricle  with  a  lady  by  his  side. 
Master  Simon  did,  indeed,  go  to  the  races,  and  that  with  a  new 


96  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

horse ;  and  the  dashing  widow  did  make  her  appearance  in  a 
curricle ;  but  it  was  unfortunately  driven  by  a  strapping  young 
Irish  dragoon,  with  whom  even  Master  Simon's  self-complacency 
would  not  allow  him  to  venture  into  competition,  and  to  whom 
she  was  married  shortly  after. 

It  was  a  matter  of  sore  chagrin  to  Master  Simon  for  several 
months,  having  never  before  been  fully  committed.  The  dull- 
est head  in  the  family  had  a  joke  upon  him ;  and  there  is  no 
one  that  likes  less  to  be  bantered  than  an  absolute  joker.  He 
took  refuge  for  a  time  at  Lady  Lillycraft's,  until  the  matter 
should  blow  over ;  and  occupied  himself  by  looking  over  her 
accounts,  regulating  the  village  choir,  and  inculcating  loyalty 
into  a  pet  bulfinch,  by  teaching  him  to  whistle  ' '  God  save  the 
King." 

He  has  now  pretty  nearly  recovered  from  the  mortification ; 
holds  up  his  head,  and  laughs  as  much  as  any  one ;  again  affects 
to  pity  married  men,  and  is  particularly  facetious  about  widows, 
when  Lady  Lillycraft  is  not  by.  His  only  time  of  trial  is  when 
the  general  gets  hold  of  him,  who  is  infinitely  heavy  and  per- 
severing in  his  waggery,  and  will  interweave  a  dull  joke  through 
the  various  topics  of  a  whole  dinner-time.  Master  Simon  often 
parries  these  attacks  by  a  stanza  from  his  old  work  of  "Cupid's 
Solicitor  for  Love:" 

"  Tis  in  vain  to  wooe  a  widow  over  long, 

In  once  or  twice  her  mind  you  may  perceive; 
Widows  are  subtle,  be  they  old  or  young. 
And  by  their  wiles  young  men  they  will  deceive." 


LOVE-CHARMS. 

Come,  do  not  weep,  my  girl, 

Forget  him,  pretty  Pensiveness;  there  will 

Come  others,  every  day,  as  good  as  he.— SIB  J.  SUCKLING. 

THE  approach  of  a  wedding  in  a  family  is  always  an  event  of 
great  importance,  but  particularly  so  in  a  household  like  this, 
in  a  retired  part  of  the  country.  Master  Simon,  who  is  a 
pervading  spirit,  and,  through  means  of  the  butler  and  house- 
keeper, knows  every  thing  that  goes  forward,  tells  me  that 
the  maid-servants  are  continually  trying  their  fortunes,  and 
that  the  servants'-hall  has  of  late  been  quite  a  scene  of  incan- 
tation. 


LOVE-CSAttMS.  97 

It  is  amusing  to  notice  how  the  oddities  of  the  head  of  a 
family  flow  down  through  all  the  branches.  The  Squire,  in  the 
indulgence  of  his  love  of  every  tiling  that  smacks  of  old  times, 
has  held  so  many  grave  conversations  with  the  parson  at  table, 
about  popular  superstitions  and  traditional  rites,  that  they 
have  been  carried  from  the  parlour  to  the  kitchen  by  the  listen- 
ing domestics,  and,  being  apparently  sanctioned  by  such  high 
authority,  the  whole  house  has  become  infected  by  them. 

The  servants  are  all  versed  in  the  common  modes  of  trying 
luck,  and  the  charms  to  insure  constancy.  They  read  their 
fortunes  by  drawing  strokes  in  the  ashes,  or  by  repeating  a 
form  of  words,  and  looking  in  a  pail  of  water.  St.  Mark's  Eve, 
I  am  told,  was  a  busy  time  with  them ;  being  an  appointed  night 
for  certain  mystic  ceremonies.  Several  of  them  sowed  hemp- 
seed  to  be  reaped  by  their  true  lovers ;  and  they  even  ventured 
upon  the  solemn  and  fearful  preparation  of  the  dumb-cake. 
This  must  be  done  fasting,  and  in  silence.  The  ingredients  are 
handed  down  in  traditional  form:  "  An  eggshell  full  of  salt,  an 
eggshell  full  of  malt,  and  an  eggshell  full  of  barley-meal. "  When 
the  cake  is  ready,  it  is  put  upon  a  pan  over  the  fire,  and  the 
future  husband  will  appear,  turn  the  cake,  and  retire ;  but  if  a 
word  is  spoken  or  a  fast  is  broken  during  this  awful  ceremony, 
there  is  no  knowing  what  horrible  consequences  would  ensue ! 

The  experiments,  in  the  present  instance,  came  to  no  result ; 
they  that  sowed  the  hemp-seed  forgot  the  magic  rhyme  that 
they  were  to  pronounce— so  the  true  lover  never  appeared ;  and 
as  to  the  dumb-cake,  what  between  the  awful  stillness  they  had 
to  keep,  and  the  aw  fulness  of  the  midnight  hour,  their  hearts 
failed  them  when  they  had  put  the  cake  in  the  pan ;  so  that,  on 
the  striking  of  the  great  house-clock  in  the  servants'-hall,  they 
were  seized  with  a  sudden  panic,  and  ran  out  of  the  room,  to 
which  they  did  not  return  until  morning,  when  they  found  the 
mystic  cake  burnt  to  a  cinder. 

The  most  persevering  at  these  spells,  however,  is  Phoebe 
Wilkins,  the  housekeeper's  niece.  As  she  is  a  kind  of  privi- 
leged personage,  and  rather  idle,  she  has  more  time  to  occupy 
herself  with  these  matters.  She  has  always  had  her  head  full 
of  love  and  matrimony.  She  knows  the  dream-book  by  heart, 
and  is  quite  an  oracle  among  the  little  girls  of  the  family, 
who  always  come  to  her  to  interpret  their  dreams  in  the  morn- 
ings. 

During  the  present  gayety  of  the  house,  however,  the  poor 
girl  has  worn  a  face  full  of  trouble ;  and,  to  use  the  house- 


98  SRACEBIUDGE  HALL. 

keeper's  \vords,  "has  fallen  into  a  sad  hystericky  way  lately." 
It  seems  that  she  was  born  and  brought  up  in  the  village, 
where  her  father  was  parish-clerk,  and  she  was  an  early  play- 
mate and  sweetheart  of  young  Jack  Tibbets.  Since  she  has 
come  to  li ve  at  the  Hall,  however,  her  head  has  been  a  little 
turned.  Being  very  pretty,  and  naturally  genteel,  she  has 
been  much  noticed  and  indulged ;  and  being  the  housekeeper's 
niece,  she  has  held  an  equivocal  station  between  a  servant  and 
a  companion.  She  has  learnt  something  of  fashions  and  notions 
among  the  young  ladies,  which  have  effected  quite  a  metamor- 
phosis; insomuch  that  her  finery  at  church  on  Sundays  has 
given  mortal  offence  to  her  former  intimates  in  the  village. 
This  has  occasioned  the  misrepresentations  which  have 
awakened  the  implacable  family  pride  of  Dame  Tibbets.  But 
what  is  worse,  Phoebe,  having  a  spice  of  coquetry  in  her  dis- 
position, showed  it  on  one  or  two  occasions  to  her  lover,  which 
produced  a  downright  quarrel ;  and  Jack,  being  very  proud  and 
fiery,  has  absolutely  turned  his  back  upon  her  for  several  suc- 
cessive Sundays. 

The  poor  girl  is  full  of  sorrow  and  repentance,  and  would  fain 
make  up  with  her  lover ;  but  he  feels  his  security,  and  stands 
aloof.  In  this  he  is  doubtless  encouraged  by  his  mother,  who 
is  continually  reminding  him  what  he  owes  to  his  family ;  for 
this  same  family  pride  seems  doomed  to  be  the  eternal  bane  of 
lovers. 

As  I  hate  to  see  a  pretty  face  in  trouble,  I  have  felt  quite 
concerned  for  the  luckless  Phoebe,  ever  since  I  heard  her  story. 
It  is  a  sad  thing  to  be  thwarted  in  love  at  any  time,  but  par- 
ticularly so  at  this  tender  season  of  the  year,  when  every  living 
thing,  even  to  the  very  butterfly,  is  sporting  with  its  mate ;  and 
the  green  fields,  and  the  budding  groves,  and  the  singing  of  the 
birds,  and  the  sweet  smell  of  the  flowers,  are  enough  to  turn  the 
head  of  a  love-sick  girl.  I  am  told  that  the  coolness  of  young 
Ready-Money  lies  very  heavy  at  poor  Phoebe's  heart.  Instead 
of  singing  about  the  house  as  formerly,  she  goes  about  pale  and 
sighing,  and  is  apt  to  break  into  tears  when  her  companions  are 
full  of  merriment. 

Mrs.  Hannah,  the  vestal  gentlewoman  of  my  Lady  Lillycraft, 
has  had  long  talks  and  walks  with  Phoebe,  up  and  down  tho 
avenue  of  an  evening;  and  has  endeavoured  to  squeeze  some  of 
her  own  verjuice  into  the  other's  milky  nature.  She  speaks 
with  contempt  and  abhorrence  of  the  whole  sex,  and  advises 
Phoebe  to  despise  all  the  men  as  heartily  as  she  does.  Bui 


THE  LIBRARY.  00 

Phoebe's  loving  temper  is  not  to  be  curdled ;  she  has  no  such 
tiling  as  hatred  or  contempt  for  mankind  in  her  whole  compo- 
sition. She  has  all  the  simple  fondness  of  heart  of  poor,  weak, 
loving  woman ;  and  her  only  thoughts  at  present  are  how  to 
conciliate  and  reclaim  her  wayward  swain. 

The  spells  and  love-charms,  which  are  matters  of  sport  to  the 
other  domestics,  are  serious  concerns  with  this  love-stricken 
damsel.  She  is  continually  trying  her  fortune  in  a  variety  of 
ways.  I  am  told  that  she  has  absolutely  fasted  for  six 
Wednesdays  and  three  Fridays  successively,  having  under- 
stood that  it  was  a  sovereign  charm  to  insure  being  married 
to  one's  liking  within  the  year.  She  carries  about,  also,  a  lock 
of  her  sweetheart's  hair,  and  a  riband  he  once  gave  her,  being 
a  mode  of  producing  constancy  in  a  lover.  She  even  went  so 
far  as  to  try  her  fortune  by  the  moon,  which  has  always  had 
much  to  do  with  lovers'  dreams  and  fancies.  For  this  purpose, 
she  went  out  in  the  night  of  the  full  moon,  knelt  on  a  stone 
in  the  meadow,  and  repeated  the  old  traditional  rhyme : 

"  All  hail  to  thee,  moon,  all  hail  to  thee; 
I  pray  thee,  good  moon,  now  show  to  me 
The  youth  who  my  future  husband  shall  be," 

When  she  came  back  to  the  house,  she  was  faint  and  pale, 
and  went  immediately  to  bed.  The  next  morning  she  told  the 
porter's  wife  that  she  had  seen  some  one  close  by  the  hedge 
in  the  meadow,  which  she  was  sure  was  young  Tibbets ;  at  any 
rate,  she  had  dreamt  of  him  all  night ;  both  of  which,  the  old 
dame  assured  her,  were  most  happy  signs.  It  has  since  turned 
out  that  the  person  in  the  meadow  was  old  Christy,  the  hunts- 
man, who  was  walking  his  nightly  rounds  with  the  great  stag- 
hound;  so  that  Phcebe's  faith  in  the  charm  is  completely 
shaken. 


THE  LIBRAEY. 

YESTERDAY  the  fair  Julia  made  her  first  appearance  down- 
stairs since  her  accident;  and  the  sight  of  her  spread  an  uni- 
versal cheerfulness  through  the  household.  She  was  extremely 
pale,  however,  and  could  not  walk  without  pain  and  difficulty. 
She  was  assisted,  therefore,  to  a  sofa  in  the  library,  which  is 
pleasant  and  retired,  looking  out  among  trees ;  and  so  quiet, 


100  SKACKSltTT)GE  RAIL. 

that  the  little  hirds  come  hopping  upon  the  -windows,  and  peer- 
ing curiously  into  the  apartment.  Here  several  of  the  family 
gathered  round,  and  devised  means  to  amuse  her,  and  make 
the  day  pass  pleasantly.  Lady  Lillycraft  lamented  the  want 
of  some  new  novel  to  while  away  the  time ;  and  was  almost  in 
a  pet,  because  the  "  Author  of  Waverley"  had  not  produced  a 
Work  for  the  last  three  months. 

!  There  was  a  motion  made  to  call  on  the  parson  for  some  of 
his  old  legends  or  ghost  stories ;  but  to  this  Lady  Lillycraft  ob- 
jected, as  they  were  apt  to  give  her  the  vapours.  General  Har- 
bottle  gave  a  minute  account,  for  the  sixth  time,  of  the  disaster 
of  a  friend  in  India,  who  had  his  leg  bitten  off  by  a  tiger,  whilst 
he  was  hunting ;  and  was  proceeding  to  menace  the  company 
with  a  chapter  or  two  about  Tippoo  Saib. 

At  length  the  captain  bethought  himself  and  said,  he  believed 
he  had  a  manuscript  tale  lying  in  one  corner  of  his  campaign- 
ing trunk,  which,  if  he  could  find,  and  the  company  were 
desirous,  he  would  read  to  them.  The  offer  was  eagerly 
accepted.  He  retired,  and  soon  returned  with  a  roll  of  blotted 
manuscript,  in  a  very  gentlemanlike,  but  nearly  illegible,  hand, 
and  a  great  part  written  on  cartridge-paper. 

"It  is  one  of  the  scribblings,"  said  he,  "  of  my  poor  friend, 
Charles  Lightly,  of  the  dragoons.  He  was  a  curious,  romantic, 
studious,  fanciful  fellow;  the  favourite,  and  often  the  uncon- 
scious butt  of  his  fellow-officers,  who  entertained  themselves 
with  his  eccentricities.  He  was  in  some  of  the  hardest  service 
in  the  peninsula,  and  distinguished  himself  by  his  gallantry. 
When  the  intervals  of  duty  permitted,  he  was  fond  of  roving 
about  the  country,  visiting  noted  places,  and  was  extremely 
fond  of  Moorish  ruins.  When  at  his  quarters,  he  was  a  great 
scribbler,  and  passed  much  of  his  leisure  with  his  pen  in  his 
[hand. 

"  As  I  was  a  much  younger  officer,  and  a  very  young  man, 
he  took  me,  in  a  manner,  under  his  care,  and  we  became  close 
friends.  He  used  often  to  read  his  writings  to  me,  having  a 
groat  confidence  in  my  taste,  for  I  always  praised  them. 
Poor  fellow !  he  was  shot  down  close  by  me,  at  Waterloo.  We 
lay  wounded  together  for  some  time,  during  a  hard  contest 
that  took  place  near  at  hand.  As  I  was  least  hurt,  I  tried  to 
relieve  him,  and  to  stanch  the  blood  which  flowed  from  a 
wound  in  his  breast.  He  lay  with  his  head  in  my  lap,  and 
looked  up  thankfully  in  my  face,  but  shook  his  head  faintly, 
and  made  a  sign  that  it  was  ail  over  with  him;  and,  indeed,  ho 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  101 

died  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  just  as  our  men  had  repulsed 
the  enemy,  and  came  to  our  relief.  I  have  his  favourite  dog  and 
his  pistols  to  this  day,  and  sSvSral  of j  his  manuscripts,  which  he 
gave  to  me  at  different  tin3.es.'  ^The-'one  I 'am  now  going  to 
read,  is  a  tale  which  he  said  he  yrot^in-Suaii^^ijriiag  the  time 
that  he  lay  ill  of  a  wound,  re(/eiy£Pl  atSalam'aac'aJ'"' 

We  now  arranged  ourselves  to  hear  the  story.  The  captain 
seated  himself  on  the  sofa,  beside  the  fair  Julia,  who  I  had 
noticed  to  be  somewhat  affected  by  the  picture  he  had  care- 
lessly drawn  of  wounds  and  dangers  in  a  field  of  battle.  She 
now  leaned  her  arm  fondly  on  his  shoulder,  and  her  eye  glis- 
tened as  it  rested  on  the  manuscript  of  the  poor  literary 
dragoon.  Lady  Lillycraft  buried  herself  in  a  deep,  well- 
cushioned  elbow-chair.  Her  dogs  were  nestled  on  soft  mats  at 
her  feet ;  and  the  gallant  general  took  his  station  in  an  arm- 
chair, at  her  side,  and  toyed  with  her  elegantly  ornamented 
work-bag.  The  rest  of  the  circle  being  all  equally  well  accom- 
modated, the  captain  began  his  story ;  a  copy  of  which  I  have 
procured  for  the  benefit  of  the  reader. 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA. 

What  a  life  do  I  lead  with  iny  master;  nothing  but  blowing  of  bellowes,  beating  of 
spirits,  and  scraping  of  croslets  1  It  is  a  very  secret  science,  for  none  almost  can 
understand  the  language  of  it.  Sublimation,  almigation,  calcination,  rubiflcation, 
albiflcation,  and  fermentation;  with  as  many  termes  impossible  to  be  uttered  as  the 
arte  to  be  compassed.— LILLY'S  Gallathea. 

ONCE  upon  a  time,  in  the  ancient  city  of  Granada,  there 
sojourned  a  young  man  of  the  name  of  Antonio  de  Castros. 
He  wore  the  garb  of  a  student  of  Salamanca,  and  was  pursuing 
a  course  of  reading  in  the  library  of  the  university ;  and,  at  in- 
tervals of  leisure,  indulging  his  curiosity  by  examining  those 
remains  of  Moorish  magnificence  for  which  Granada  is  re- 
nowned. 

"Whilst  occupied  in  his  studies,  he  frequently  noticed  an  old 
man  of  a  singular  appearance,  who  was  likewise  a  visitor  to 
the  library.  He  was  lean  and  withered,  though  apparently 
more  from  study  than  from  age.  His  eyes,  though  bright  and 
visionary,  were  sunk  in  his  head,  and  thrown  into  shade  by 
overhanging  eyebrows.  His  dress  was  always  the  same:  a 


102  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

black  doublet;  a  short  black  cloak,  v&y  rusty  and  threadbare 
a  small  ruff  and  a  large  overshadowing  hat. 

His  appetite  for  knowledge,  $ee.med  insatiable.  He  would 
pass  whole  days' in  the.  library,:  absorbed  in  study,  consulting  a 
multiplicity  pi  j*u>korsfla8  though-,  he  were  pursuing  some 
interesting* feCiij^V  ."through,  all-. Its  ramifications;  so  that,  in 
general,  when  evening  came,  he  was  almost  buried  among 
books  and  manuscripts. 

The  curiosity  of  Anton?  o  was  excited,  and  he  inquired  of  the 
attendants  concerning  the  stranger.  No  one  could  give  him 
any  information,  excepting  that  he  had  been  for  some  time 
past  a  casual  frequenter  of  the  library ;  that  his  reading  lay 
chiefly  among  works  treating  of  the  occult  sciences,  and  that 
he  was  particularly  curious  in  his  inquiries  after  Arabian 
manuscripts.  They  added,  that  he  never  held  communication 
with  anyone,  excepting  to  ask  for  particular  works ;  that,  after 
a  fit  of  studious  application,  he  would  disappear  for  several 
days,  and  even  weeks,  and  when  he  revisited  the  library,  he 
would  look  more  withered  and  haggard  than  ever.  The  student 
felt  interested  by  this  account ;  he  was  leading  rather  a  desul- 
tory lif  e,  and  had  all  that  capricious  curiosity  which  springs  up 
in  idleness.  He  determined  to  make  himself  acquainted  with 
this  book- worm,  and  find  out  who  and  what  he  was. 

The  next  time  that  he  saw  the  old  man  at  the  library,  he 
commenced  his  approaches  by  requesting  permission  to  look 
into  one  of  the  volumes  with  which  the  unknown  appeared  to 
have  done.  The  latter  merely  bowed  his  head,  in  token  of 
assent.  After  pretending  to  look  through  the  volume  with 
great  attention,  he  returned  it  with  many  acknowledgments. 
The  stranger  made  no  reply. 

"May  I  ask,  senor,"  said  Antonio,  with  some  hesitation, 
"  may  I  ask  what  you  are  searching  after  in  all  these  books?" 

The  old  man  raised  his  head,  with  an  expression  of  surprise, 
at  having  his  studies  interrupted  for  the  first  time,  and  by  so 
intrusive  a  question.  He  surveyed  the  student  with  a  side 
glance  from  head  to  foot:  "  Wisdom,  my  son,"  said  he,  calmly; 
"and  the  search  requires  every  moment  of  my  attention."  He 
then  cast  his  eyes  upon  his  book,  and  resumed  his  studies. 

"But,  father,"  said  Antonio,  "cannot  you  spare  a  moment  to 
point  out  the  road  to  others?  It  is  to  experienced  travellers 
like  you,  that  we  strangers  in  the  paths  of  knowledge  must 
look  for  directions  on  our  journey." 

The  stranger  looked  disturbed :  "  I  have  not  time  enough,  my 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  103 

eon,  to  learn,"  said  he,  "much  less  to  teach.  I  am  ignorant 
myself  of  the  path  of  true  knowledge ;  how  then  can  I  show  it 
to  others?" 

"Well,  but,  father—" 

"  Senor,"  said  the  old  man,  mildly,  but  earnestly,  "  you  must 
see  that  I  have  but  few  steps  more  to  the  grave.  In  that  short 
space  have  I  to  accomplish  the  whole  business  of  my  existence. 
I  have  no  time  for  words ;  every  word  is  as  one  grain  of  sand 
of  my  glass  wasted.  Suffer  me  to  be  alone." 

There  was  no  replying  to  so  complete  a  closing  of  the  door  of 
intimacy.  The  student  found  himself  calmly  but  totally 
repulsed.  Though  curious  and  inquisitive,  yet  he  was  naturally 
modest,  and  on  after-thoughts  he  blushed  at  his  own  intrusion. 
His  mind  soon  became  occupied  by  other  objects.  He  passed 
several  days  wandering  among  the  mouldering  piles  of  Moorish 
architecture,  those  melancholy  monuments  of  an  elegant  and 
voluptuous  people.  He  paced  the  deserted  halls  of  the  Alham- 
bra,  the  paradise  of  the  Moorish  kings.  He  visited  the  great 
court  of  the  lions,  famous  for  the  perfidious  massacre  of  the 
gallant  Abencerrages.  He  gazed  with  admiration  at  its  mosaic 
cupolas,  gorgeously  painted  in  gold  and  azure;  its  basins  of 
marble,  its  alabaster  vase,  supported  by  lions,  and  storied  with 
inscriptions. 

His  imagination  kindled  as  he  wandered  among  these  scenes. 
They  were  calculated  to  awaken  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  youth- 
ful mind.  Most  of  the  halls  have  anciently  been  beautified  by 
fountains.  The  fine  taste  of  the  Arabs  delighted  in  the  spark- 
ling purity  and  reviving  freshness  of  water ;  and  they  erected, 
as  it  were,  altars  on  every  side,  to  that  delicate  element.  Poe- 
try mingles  with  architecture  in  the  Alhambra.  It  breathes 
along  the  very  walls.  Wherever  Antonio  turned  his  eye,  he 
beheld  inscriptions  in  Arabic,  wherein  the  perpetuity  of  Moorish 
power  and  splendour  within  these  walls  was  confidently  pre- 
dicted. Alas !  how  has  the  prophecy  been  falsified !  Many  of 
the  basins,  where  the  fountains  had  once  thrown  up  their  spark- 
ling showers,  were  dry  and  dusty.  Some  of  the  palaces  were 
turned  into  gloomy  convents,  and  the  barefoot  monk  paced 
through  those  courts,  which  had  once  glittered  with  the  array, 
and  echoed  to  the  music,  of  Moorish  chivalry. 

In  the  course  of  his  rambles,  the  student  more  than  once 
encountered  the  old  man  of  the  library.  He  was  always  alone, 
and  so  full  of  thought  as  not  to  notice  any  one  about  him.  He 
appeared  to  be  intent  upon  studying  those  half -buried  inscrip- 


104  •       BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

tions,  which  are  found,  here  and  there,  among  the  Moorish 
ruins,  and  seem  to  murmur  from  the  earth  the  tale  of  former 
greatness.  The  greater  part  of  these  have  since  been  trans- 
lated ;  but  they  were  supposed  by  many  at  the  tune,  to  contain 
symbolical  revelations,  and  golden  maxims  of  the  Arabian  sagea 
and  astrologers.  As  Antonio  saw  the  stranger  apparently 
deciphering  these  inscriptions,  he  felt  an  eager  longing  to  make 
his  acquaintance,  and  to  participate  in  his  curious  researches ; 
but  the  repulse  he  had  met  with  at  the  library  deterred  him 
from  making  any  further  advances. 

He  had  directed  his  steps  one  evening  to  the  sacred  mount, 
which  overlooks  the  beautiful  valley  watered  by  the  Darro,  the 
fertile  plain  of  the  Vega,  and  all  that  rich  diversity  of  vale 
and  mountain  that  surrounds  Granada  with  an  earthly  para- 
dise. It  was  twilight  when  he  found  himself  at  the  place, 
where,  at  the  present  day,  are  situated  the  chapels,  known  by 
the  name  of  the  Sacred  Furnaces.  They  are  so  called  from 
grottoes,  in  which  some  of  the  primitive  saints  are  said  to  have 
been  burnt.  At  the  time  of  Antonio's  visit,  the  place  was  an 
object  of  much  curiosity.  In  an  excavation  of  these  grottoes, 
several  manuscripts  had  recently  been  discovered,  engraved 
on  plates  of  lead.  They  were  written  in  the  Arabian  language, 
excepting  one,  which  was  in  unknown  characters.  The  Pope 
had  issued  a  bull,  forbidding  any  one,  under  pain  of  excom- 
munication, to  speak  of  these  manuscripts.  The  prohibition 
had  only  excited  the  greater  curiosity;  and  many  reports 
were  whispered  about,  that  these  manuscripts  contained  trea- 
sures of  dark  and  forbidden  knowledge. 

As  Antonio  was  examining  the  place  from  whence  these  mys- 
terious manuscripts  had  been  drawn,  he  again  observed  the 
old  man  of  the  library  wandering  among  the  ruins.  His 
curiosity  was  now  fully  awakened ;  the  time  and  place  served 
to  stimulate  it.  He  resolved  to  watch  this  groper  after  secret 
and  forgotten  lore,  and  to  trace  him  to  his  habitation.  There 
was  something  like  adventure  in  the  thing,  that  charmed  his 
romantic  disposition.  He  followed  the  stranger,  therefore,  at 
a  little  distance ;  at  first  cautiously,  but  he  soon  observed  him 
to  be  so  wrapped  in  his  own  thoughts,  as  to  take  little  heed  of 
external  objects. 

They  passed  along  the  skirts  of  the  mountain,  and  then  by 
the  shady  banks  of  the  Darro.  They  pursued  their  way,  for 
some  distance  from  Granada,  along  a  lonely  road  that  led 
among  the  hills.  The  gloom  of  evening  was  gathering,  and  it 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  105 

was  quite  dark  when  the  stranger  stopped  at  the  portal  of  a 
solitary  mansion. 

It  appeared  to  be  a  mere  wing,  or  ruined  fragment,  of  what 
had  once  been  a  pile  of  some  consequence.  The  walls  were  of 
great  thickness;  the  windows  narrow,  and  generally  secured 
by  iron  bars.  The  door  was  of  planks,  studded  with  iron 
spikes,  and  had  been  of  great  strength,  though  at  present  it 
was  much  decayed.  At  one  end  of  the  mansion  was  a  ruinous 
tower,  in  the  Moorish  style  of  architecture.  The  edifice  had 
probably  been  a  country  retreat,  or  castle  of  pleasure,  during 
the  occupation  of  Granada  by  the  Moors,  and  rendered  suffi- 
ciently strong  to  withstand  any  casual  assault  in  those  warlike 
times. 

The  old  man  knocked  at  the  portal.  A  light  appeared  at  a 
small  window  just  above  it,  and  a  female  head  looked  out :  it 
might  have  served  as  a  model  for  one  of  Raphael's  saints. 
The  hair  was  beautifully  braided,  and  gathered  in  a  silken  net; 
and  the  complexion,  as  well  as  could  be  judged  from  the  light, 
was  that  soft,  rich  brunette,  so  becoming  in  southern  beauty. 

"It  is  I,  my  child,"  said  the  old  man.  The  face  instantly 
disappeared,  and  soon  after  a  wicket-door  in  the  large  portal 
opened.  Antonio,  who  had  ventured  near  to  the  building, 
caught  a  transient  sight  of  a  delicate  female  form.  A  pair  of 
fine  black  eyes  darted  a  look  of  surprise  at  seeing  a  stranger 
hovering  near,  and  the  door  was  precipitately  closed. 

There  was  something  in  this  sudden  gleam  of  beauty  that 
wonderfully  struck  the  imagination  of  the  student.  It  was 
like  a  brilliant,  flashing  from  its  dark  casket.  He  sauntered 
about,  regarding  the  gloomy  pile  with  increasing  interest.  A 
few  simple,  wild  notes,  from  among  some  rocks  and  trees  at  a 
little  distance,  attracted  his  attention.  He  found  there  a 
group  of  Gitanas,  a  vagabond  gipsy  race,  which  at  that  time 
abounded  in  Spain,  and  lived  in  hovels  and  caves  of  the  hills 
about  the  neighbourhood  of  Granada.  Some  were  busy  about  a 
fire,  and  others  were  listening  to  the  uncouth  music  which  one 
of  their  companions,  seated  on  a  ledge  of  the  rock,  was  making 
with  a  split  reed. 

Antonio  endeavoured  to  obtain  some  information  of  them, 
concerning  the  old  building  and  its  inhabitants.  The  one  who 
appeared  to  be  their  spokesman  was  a  gaunt  fellow,  with  a 
subtle  gait,  a  whispering  voice,  and  a  sinister  roll  of  the  eye. 
He  shrugged  his  shoulders  on  the  student's  inquiries,  and  said 
that  all  was  not  right  in  that  building.  An  old  man  inhabited 


106  BRACKBIUDGE  HALL. 

it,  whom  nobody  knew,  and  whose  family  appeared  to  be  only  a 
daughter  and  a  female  servant.  He  and  his  companions,  he 
added,  lived  up  among  the  neighbouring  hills ;  and  as  they  had 
been  about  at  night,  they  had  often  seen  strange  lights,  and 
heard  strange  sounds  from  the  tower.  Some  of  the  country 
people,  who  worked  in  the  vineyards  among  the  hills,  believed 
the  old  man  to  be  one  that  dealt  in  the  black  art,  and  were  not 
over-fond  of  passing  near  the  tower  at  night;  "but  for  our 
parts,"  said  the  Gitano,  "  we  are  not  a  people  that  trouble  our- 
selves much  with  fears  of  that  kind. " 

The  student  endeavoured  to  gain  more  precise  information, 
but  they  had  none  to  furnish  him.  They  began  to  be  solicitous 
for  a  compensation  for  what  they  had  already  imparted ;  and, 
recollecting  the  loneliness  of  the  place,  and  the  vagabond 
character  of  his  companions,  he  was  glad  to  give  them  a  gratu- 
ity, and  to  hasten  homewards. 

He  sat  down  to  his  studies,  but  his  brain  was  too  full  of  what 
he  had  seen  and  heard ;  his  eye  was  upon  the  page,  but  his 
fancy  still  returned  to  the  tower;  and  he  was  continually 
picturing  the  little  window,  with  the  beautiful  head  peeping 
out ;  or  the  door  half  open,  and  the  nymph-like  form  within. 
He  retired  to  bed,  but  the  same  object  haunted  his  dreams. 
He  was  young  and  susceptible;  and  the  excited  state  of  his 
feelings,  from  wandering  among  the  abodes  of  departed  grace 
and  gallantry,  had  predisposed  him  for  a  sudden  impression 
from  female  beauty. 

The  next  morning,  he  strolled  again  in  the  direction  of  the 
tower.  It  was  still  more  forlorn,  by  the  broad  glare  of  day, 
than  in  the  gloom  of  evening.  The  walls  were  crumbling,  and 
weeds  and  moss  were  growing  in  every  crevice.  It  had  the 
look  of  a  prison,  rather  than  a  dwelling-house.  In  one  angle, 
however,  he  remarked  a  window  which  seemed  an  exception 
to  the  surrounding  squalidness.  There  was  a  curtain  drawn 
within  it,  and  flowers  standing  on  the  window-stone.  Whilst 
he  was  looking  at  it,  the  curtain  was  partially  withdrawn,  and 
a  delicate  white  arm,  of  the  most  beautiful  roundness,  was 
put  forth  to  water  the  flowers. 

The  student  made  a  noise,  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  fair 
florist.  He  succeeded.  The  curtain  was  further  drawn,  and 
he  had  a  glance  of  the  same  lovely  face  he  had  seen  the  even- 
ing before ;  it  was  but  a  mere  glance — the  curtain  again  fell, 
and  the  casement  closed.  All  this  was  calculated  to  excite  the 
feelings  of  a  romantic  youth.  Had  he  seen  the  unknown  under 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  107 

other  circumstances,  it  is  probable  that  he  would  not  have  been 
struck  with  her  beauty ;  but  this  appearance  of  being  shut  up 
and  kept  apart,  gave  her  the  value  of  a  treasured  gem.  He 
passed  and  repassed  before  the  house  several  times  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  but  saw  nothing  more.  He  was  there  again, 
in  the  evening.  The  whole  aspect  of  the  house  was  dreary. 
The  narrow  windows  emitted  no  rays  of  cheerful  light,  to  indi- 
cate that  there  was  social  life  within.  Antonio  listened  at  the 
portal,  but  no  sound  of  voices  reached  his  ear.  Just  then  he 
heard  the  clapping  to  of  a  distant  door,  and  fearing  to  be  de- 
tected in  the  unworthy  act  of  eavesdropping,  he  precipitately 
drew  off  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  road,  and  stood  in  the  sha- 
dow of  a  ruined  archway. 

He  now  remarked  a  light  from  a  window  in  the  tower.  It 
was  fitful  and  changeable ;  commonly  feeble  and  yellowish,  as 
if  from  a  lamp ;  with  an  occasional  glare  of  some  vivid  metallic 
colour,  followed  by  a  dusky  glow.  A  column  of  dense  smoke 
would  now  and  then  rise  in  the  air,  and  hang  bike  a  canopy 
over  the  tower.  There  was  altogether  such  a  loneliness  and 
seeming  mystery  about  the  building  and  its  inhabitants,  that 
Antonio  was  half  inclined  to  indulge  the  country  people's 
notions,  and  to  fancy  it  the  den  of  some  powerful  sorcerer,  and 
the  fair  damsel  he  had  seen  to  be  some  spell-bound  beauty. 

After  some  time  had  elapsed,  a  light  appeared  in  the  window 
where  he  had  seen  the  beautiful  arm.  The  curtain  was  down, 
but  it  was  so  thin  that  he  could  perceive  the  shadow  of  some 
one  passing  and  repassing  between  it  and  the  light.  He 
fancied  that  he  could  distinguish  that  the  form  was  delicate ; 
and,  from  the  alacrity  of  its  movements,  it  was  evidently 
youthful.  He  had  not  a  doubt  but  this  was  the  bedc-hamber  of 
his  beautiful  unknown. 

Presently  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  guitar,  and  a  female  voice 
singing.  He  drew  near  cautiously,  and  listened.  It  was  st 
plaintive  Moorish  ballad,  and  he  recognized  in  it  the  lamenta- 
tions of  one  of  the  Abencerrages  on  leaving  the  walls  of  lovely 
Granada.  It  was  full  of  passion  and  tenderness.  It  spoke  of 
the  delights  of  early  life ;  the  hours  of  love  it  had  enjoyed  on 
the  banks  of  the  Darro,  and  among  the  blissful  abodes  of  the 
Alhambra.  It  bewailed  the  fallen  honours  of  the  Abencerrages, 
and  imprecated  vengeance  on  their  oppressors.  Antonio  was 
affected  by  the  music.  It  singularly  coincided  with  the  place. 
It  was  like  the  voice  of  past  times  echoed  in  the  present,  and 
breathing  among  the  monuments  of  its  departed  glory. 


108  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

The  voice  ceased ;  after  a  time  the  Light  disappeared,  and  all 
was  still.  "She  sleeps!"  said  Antonio,  fondJy.  He  lingered 
about  the  building,  with  the  devotion  with  which  a  lover 
lingers  about  the  bower  of  sleeping  beauty.  The  rising  moon 
threw  its  silver  beams  on  the  gray  walls,  and  glittered  on  the 
casement.  The  late  gloomy  landscape  gradually  became 
flooded  with  its  radiance.  Finding,  therefore,  that  he  could  no 
longer  move  about  hi  obscurity,  and  fearful  that  his  loiterings 
might  be  observed,  he  reluctantly  retired. 

The  curiosity  which  had  at  first  drawn  the  young  man  to  the 
tower,  was  now  seconded  by  feelings  of  a  more  romantic  kind. 
His  studies  were  almost  entirely  abandoned.  He  maintained  a 
kind  of  blockade  of  the  old  mansion;  he  would  take  a  book 
with  him,  and  pass  a  great  part  of  the  day  under  the  trees  in  its 
vicinity ;  keeping  a  vigilant  eye  upon  it,  and  endeavouring  to 
ascertain  what  were  the  walks  of  his  mysterious  charmer.  He 
found,  however,  that  she  never  went  out  except  to  mass,  when 
she  was  accompanied  by  her  father.  He  waited  at  the  door  of 
the  church,  and  offered  her  the  holy  water,  in  the  hope  of 
touching  her  hand;  a  little  office  of  gallantry  common  in 
Catholic  countries.  She,  however,  modestly  declined  without 
raising  her  eyes  to  see  who  made  the  offer,  and  always  took  it 
herself  from  the  font.  She  was  attentive  in  her  devotion ;  her 
eyes  were  never  taken  from  the  altar  or  the  priest ;  and,  on 
returning  home,  her  countenance  was  almost  entirely  con- 
cealed by  her  mantilla. 

Antonio  had  now  carried  on  the  pursuit  for  several  days,  and 
was  hourly  getting  more  and  more  interested  in  the  chase,  but 
never  a  step  nearer  to  the  game.  His  lurkings  about  the  house 
had  probably  been  noticed,  for  he  no  longer  saw  the  fair  face 
at  the  window,  nor  the  white  arm  put  forth  to  water  the 
flowers.  His  only  consolation  was  to  repair  nightly  to  his  post 
of  observation,  and  listen  to  her  warbling ;  and  if  by  chance  he 
could  catch  a  sight  of  her  shadow,  passing  and  repassing  before 
the  window,  he  thought  himself  most  fortunate. 

As  he  was  indulging  in  one  of  these  evening  vigils,  which  were 
complete  revels  of  the  imagination,  the  sound  of  approaching 
footsteps  made  him  withdraw  into  the  deep  shadow  of  the 
ruined  archway  opposite  to  the  tower.  A  cavalier  approached, 
wrapped  hi  a  large  Spanish  cloak.  He  paused  under  the  win- 
dow of  the  tower,  and  after  a  little  while  began  a  serenade, 
accompanied  by  his  guitar,  in  the  usual  style  of  Spanish  gal- 
lantry. His  voice  was  rich  and  manly ;  he  touched  the  instru- 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  100 

ment  with  skill,  and  sang  with  amorous  and  impassioned  elo- 
quence. The  plume  of  his  hat  was  buckled  by  jewels  that 
sparkled  in  the  moon-beams ;  and  as  he  played  on  the  guitar, 
his  cloak  f ailing  off  from  one  shoulder,  showed  him  to  be  richly 
dressed.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  a  person  of  rank. 

The  idea  now  flashed  across  Antonio's  mind,  that  the  affec- 
tions of  his  unknown  beauty  might  be  engaged.  She  was 
young,  and  doubtless  susceptible ;  and  it  was  not  in  the  nature 
of  Spanish  females  to  be  deaf  and  insensible  to  music  and  admi- 
ration. The  surmise  brought  with  it  a  feeling  of  dreariness. 
There  was  a  pleasant  dream  of  several  days  suddenly  dispelled. 
He  had  never  before  experienced  any  thing  of  the  tender  pas- 
sion; and,  as  its  morning  dreams  are  always  delightful,  he 
would  fain  have  continued  in  the  delusion. 

"But  what  have  I  to  do  with  her  attachments?"  thought  he; 
"I  have  no  claim  on  her  heart,  nor  even  on  her  acquaintance. 
How  do  I  know  that  she  is  worthy  of  affection?  Or  if  she  is, 
must  not  so  gallant  a  lover  as  this,  with  his  jewels,  his  rank, 
and  his  detestable  music,  have  completely  captivated  her? 
What  idle  humour  is  this  that  I  have  fallen  into?  I  must  again 
to  my  books.  Study,  study,  will  soon  chase  away  all  these  idle 
fancies !" 

The  more  he  thought,  however,  the  more  he  became  entangled 
in  the  spell  which  his  lively  imagination  had  woven  round  him ; 
and  now  that  a  rival  had  appeared,  in  addition  to  the  other 
obstacles  that  environed  this  enchanted  beauty,  she  appeared 
ten  times  more  lovely  and  desirable.  It  was  some  slight  conso- 
lation to  him  to  perceive  that  the  gallantry  of  the  unknown 
met  with  no  apparent  return  from  the  tower.  The  light  at  the 
window  was  extinguished.  The  curtain  remained  undrawn, 
and  none  of  the  customary  signals  were  given  to  intimate  that 
the  serenade  was  accepted. 

The  cavalier  lingered  for  some  time  about  the  place,  and  sang 
several  other  tender  airs  with  a  taste  and  feeling  that  made 
Antonio's  heart  ache ;  at  length  he  slowly  retired.  The  student 
remained  with  folded  arms,  leaning  against  the  ruined  arch, 
endeavouring  to  summon  up  resolution  enough  to  depart ;  but 
there  was  a  romantic  fascination,  that  still  enchained  him  to  the 
place.  "It  is  the  last  time,"  said  he,  willing  to  compromise 
between  his  feelings  and  his  judgment,  "it  is  the  last  time ; 
then  let  me  enjoy  the  dream  a  few  moments  longer." 

As  his  eye  ranged  about  the  old  building  to  take  a  farewell 
look,  he  observed  the  strangejight  in  the  tower,  which  he  had 


BRACEBRIDQE  HALL. 

noticed  on  a  former  occasion.  It  kept  beaming  up,  and  declin 
ing,  as  before.  A  pillar  of  smoke  rose  in  the  air,  and  hung  in 
sable  volumes.  It  was  evident  the  old  man  was  busied  in  some 
of  those  operations  that  had  gained  him  the  reputation  of  a 
sorcerer  throughout  the  neighbourhood. 

Suddenly  an  intense  and  brilliant  glare  shone  through  the 
casement,  followed  by  a  loud  report,  and  then  a  fierce  and 
ruddy  glow.  A  figure  appeared  at  the  window,  uttering  cries 
of  agony  or  alarm,  but  immediately  disappeared,  and  a  body 
of  smoke  and  flame  whirled  out  of  the  narrow  aperture.  An- 
tonio rushed  to  the  portal,  and  knocked  at  it  with  vehemence. 
He  was  only  answered  by  loud  shrieks,  and  found  that  the 
females  were  already  in  helpless  consternation.  With  an  exer- 
tion of  desperate  strength  he  forced  the  wicket  from  its  hinges, 
and  rushed  into  the  house. 

He  found  himself  in  a  small  vaulted  hall,  and,  by  the  light  of 
the  moon  which  entered  at  the  door,  he  saw  a  staircase  to  the 
left.  He  hurried  up  it  to  a  narrow  corridor,  through  which 
was  rolling  a  volume  of  smoke.  He  found  here  the  two  females 
in  a  frantic  state  of  alarm ;  one  of  them  clasped  her  hands,  and 
implored  him  to  save  her  father. 

The  corridor  terminated  in  a  spiral  flight  of  steps,  leading  up 
to  the  tower.  He  sprang  up  it  to  a  small  door,  through  the 
chinks  of  which  came  a  glow  of  light,  and  smoke  was  spuming 
out.  Ho  burst  it  open,  and  found  himself  in  an  antique  vaulted 
chamber,  furnished  with  a  furnace  and  various  chemical  appa- 
ratus. A  shattered  retort  lay  on  the  stone  floor ;  a  quantity  of 
combustibles,  nearly  consumed,  with  various  half -burnt  books 
and  papers,  were  sending  up  an  expiring  flame,  and  filling  the 
chamber  with  stifling  smoke.  Just  within  the  threshold  lay 
the  reputed  conjurer.  He  was  bleeding,  his  clothes  were 
scorched,  and  he  appeared  lifeless.  Antonio  caught  him  up,  and 
bore  lu'm  down  the  stairs  to  a  chamber,  in  wlu'ch  there  was  a 
light,  and  laid  him  on  a  bed.  The  female  domestic  was  de- 
spatched for  such  apph'ances  as  the  house  afforded ;  but  the 
daughter  threw  herself  frantically  beside  her  parent,  and  could 
not  be  reasoned  out  of  her  alarm.  Her  dress  was  all  in  disor- 
der ;  her  dishevelled  hair  hung  in  rich  confusion  about  her  neck 
and  bosom,  and  never  was  there  beheld  a  lovelier  picture  of 
terror  and  affliction. 

The  skilful  assiduities  of  the  scholar  soon  produced  signs  of 
returning  animation  in  his  patient.  The  old  man's  wounds, 
though  severe,  were  not  dangerous.  They  had  evidently  been 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  HI 

produced  by  the  bursting  of  the  retort ;  in  his  bewilderment  he 
had  been  enveloped  in  the  stifling  metallic  vapours,  which  had 
overpowered  his  feeble  frame,  and  had  not  Antonio  arrived  to 
his  assistance,  it  is  possible  he  might  never  have  recovered. 

By  slow  degrees  he  came  to  his  senses.  He  looked  about 
with  a  bewildered  air  at  the  chamber,  the  agitated  group  around, 
and  the  student  who  was  leaning  over  him. 

"  Where  am  I?"  said  he  wildly. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  his  daughter  uttered  a  faint  excla- 
mation of  delight.  "  My  poor  Inez!"  said  he,  embracing  her; 
then,  putting  his  hand  to  his  head,  and  taking  it  away  stained 
with  blood,  he  seemed  suddenly  to  recollect  himself,  and  to  be 
overcome  with  emotion. 

' '  Ah !"  cried  he,  "  all  is  over  with  me !  all  gone !  all  vanished ! 
gone  in  a  moment !  the  labour  of  a  lif  etime  lost !" 

His  daughter  attempted  to  soothe  him,  but  he  became  slight- 
ly delirious,  and  raved  incoherently  about  malignant  demons, 
and  about  the  habitation  of  the  green  lion  being  destroyed. 
His  wounds  being  dressed,  and  such  other  remedies  adminis- 
tered as  his  situation  required,  he  sunk  into  a  state  of  quiet. 
Antonio  now  turned  his  attention  to  the  daughter,  whose  suf- 
ferings had  been  little  inferior  to  those  of  her  father.  Having 
with  great  difficulty  succeeded  in  tranquillizing  her  fears,  he 
endeavoured  to  prevail  upon  her  to  retire,  and  seek  the  repose 
so  necessary  to  her  frame,  proffering  to  remain  by  her  father 
until  morning.  "I  am  a  stranger, "  said  he,  "it  is  true,  and 
my  offer  may  appear  intrusive ;  but  I  see  you  are  lonely  and 
helpless,  and  I  cannot  help  venturing  over  the  limits  of  mere 
ceremony.  Should  you  feel  any  scruple  or  doubt,  however,  say 
but  a  word,  and  I  will  instantly  retire." 

There  was  a  frankness,  a  kindness,  and  a  modesty,  mingled 
in  Antonio's  deportment,  that  inspired  instant  confidence ;  and 
his  simple  scholar's  garb  was  a  recommendation  in  the  house 
of  poverty.  The  females  consented  to  resign  the  sufferer  to  his 
care,  as  they  would  be  the  better  able  to  attend  to  him  on  the 
morrow.  On  retiring,  the  old  domestic  was  profuse  in  her 
benedictions;  the  daughter  only  looked  her  thanks;  but  as 
they  shone  through  the  tears  that  filled  her  fine  black  eyes,  the 
student  thought  them  a  thousand  times  the  most  eloquent. 

Here,  then,  he  was,  by  a  singular  turn  of  chance,  completely 
housed  within  this  mysterious  mansion.  When  left  to  himself, 
and  the  bustle  of  the  scene  was  over,  his  heart  throbbed  as  he 
looked  round  the  chamber  in  which  he  was  sitting.  It  was  the 


112  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

daughter's  room,  the  promised  land  toward  which  he  had  cast 
so  many  a  longing  gaze.  The  furniture  was  old,  and  had  prob- 
ably belonged  to  the  building  in  its  prosperous  days;  but 
every  thing  was  arranged  with  propriety.  The  flowers  that  he 
had  seen  her  attend  stood  in  the  window;  a  guitar  leaned 
against  a  table,  on  which  stood  a  crucifix,  and  before  it  lay  a 
missal  and  a  rosary.  There  reigned  an  air  of  purity  and 
serenity  about  this  little  nestling-place  of  innocence ;  it  was  the 
emblem  of  a  chaste  and  quiet  mind.  Some  few  articles  of 
female  dress  lay  on  the  chairs ;  and  there  was  the  very  bed  on 
which  she  had  slept  —the  pillow  on  which  her  soft  cheek  had 
reclined!  The  poor  scholar  was  treading  enchanted  ground; 
for  what  fairy  land  has  more  of  magic  in  it,  than  the  bed- 
chamber of  innocence  and  beauty  ? 

From  various  expressions  of  the  old  man  in  his  ravings,  and 
from  what  he  had  noticed  on  a  subsequent  visit  to  the  tower, 
to  see  that  the  fire  was  extinguished,  Antonio  had  gathered 
that  his  patient  was  an  alchyinist.  The  philosopher's  stone 
•was  an  object  eagerly  sought  after  by  visionaries  in  those 
days;  but  in  consequence  of  the  superstitious  prejudices  of  the 
times,  and  the  frequent  persecutions  of  its  votaries,  they  were 
apt  to  pursue  their  experiments  in  secret ;  in  lonely  houses,  in 
caverns  and  ruins,  or  in  the  privacy  of  cloistered  cells. 

In  the  course  of  the  night,  the  old  man  had  several  fits  of 
restlessness  and  delirium ;  he  would  call  out  upon  Theophras- 
tus,  and  Geber,  and  Albertus  Magnus,  and  other  sages  of  his 
art ;  and  anon  would  murmur  about  fermentation  and  projec- 
tion, until,  toward  daylight,  he  once  more  sunk  into  a  salutary 
sleep.  When  the  morning  sun  darted  his  rays  into  the  case- 
ment, the  fair  Inez,  attended  by  the  female  domestic,  came 
blushing  into  the  chamber.  The  student  now  took  his  leave, 
having  himself  need  of  repose,  but  obtaining  ready  permission 
to  return  and  inquire  after  the  sufferer. 

When  he  called  again,  he  found  the  alchyinist  languid  and  in 
pain,  but  apparently  suffering  more  in  mind  than  in  body.  Hi.s 
delirium  had  left  him,  and  he  had  been  informed  of  the  particu- 
lars of  his  deliverance,  and  of  the  subsequent  attentions  of  the 
scholar.  He  could  do  little  more  than  look  his  thanks,  but 
Antonio  did  not  require  them ;  his  own  heart  repaid  him  for 
all  that  he  had  done,  and  he  almost  rejoiced  in  the  disaster  that 
had  trained  him  an  enti-;i;i' •«>  into  this  mysterious  habitation. 
The  alchymist  was  so  helpless  as  to  need  much  assistance; 
Antonio  remained  with  nun,  therefore,  the  greater  part  of  the 


T3E  STUDENT  Of  SALAMANCA.  H3 

day.  He  repeated  his  visit  the  next  day,  and  the  next.  Every 
day  his  company  seemed  more  pleasing  to  the  invalid;  and 
every  day  he  felt  his  interest  in  the  latter  increasing.  Perhaps 
the  presence  of  the  daughter  might  have  been  at  the  bottom  of 
this  solicitude. 

He  had  frequent  and  long  conversations  with  the  alchymist. 
He  found  him,  as  men  of  his  pursuits  were  apt  to  be,  a  mixture 
of  enthusiasm  and  simplicity ;  of  curious  and  extensive  reading 
on  points  of  little  utility,  with  great  inattention  to  the  every- 
day occurrences  of  life,  and  profound  ignorance  of  the  world. 
He  was  deeply  versed  in  singular  and  obscure  branches  of 
knowledge,  and  much  given  to  visionary  speculations.  Anto- 
nio, whose  mind  was  of  a  romantic  cast,  had  himself  given 
some  attention  to  the  occult  sciences,  and  he  entered  upon  these 
themes  with  an  ardour  that  delighted  the  philosopher.  Their 
conversations  frequently  turned  upon  astrology,  divination, 
and  the  great  secret.  The  old  man  would  forget  his  aches  and 
wounds,  rise  up  like  a  spectre  in  his  bed,  and  kindle  into  elo- 
quence on  his  favourite  topics.  When  gently  admonished  of  his 
situation,  it  would  but  prompt  him  to  another  sally  of  thought. 

"  Alas,  my  son !"  he  would  say,  "is  not  this  very  decrepitude 
and  suffering  another  proof  of  the  importance  of  those  secrets 
with  which  we  are  surrounded?  Why  are  we  trammelled  by 
disease,  withered  by  old  age,  and  our  spirits  quenched,  as  it 
were,  within  us,  but  because  we  have  lost  those  secrets  of  life 
and  youth  which  were  known  to  our  parents  before  their  fall  ? 
To  regain  these,  have  philosophers  been  ever  since  aspiring; 
but  just  as  they  are  on  the  point  of  securing  the  precious 
secrets  for  ever,  the  brief  period  of  lif e  is  at  an  end ;  they  die, 
and  with  them  all  their  wisdom  and  experience.  '  Nothing,' as 
De  Nuysment  observes,  '  nothing  is  wanting  for  man's  perfec- 
tion but  a  longer  life,  less  crossed  with  sorrows  and  maladies, 
to  the  attaining  of  the  full  and  perfect  knowledge  of  things.' " 

At  length  Antonio  so  far  gained  on  the  heart  of  his  patient, 
as  to  draw  from  him  the  outlines  of  his  story. 

Felix  de  Vasques,  the  alchymist,  was  a  native  of  Castile,  and 
of  an  ancient  and  honourable  line.  Early  in  lif  e  he  had  married 
a  beautiful  female,  a  descendant  from  one  of  the  Moorish  fami- 
lies. The  marriage  displeased  his  father,  who  considered  the 
pure  Spanish  blood  contaminated  by  this  foreign  mixture.  It 
is  true,  the  lady  traced  her  descent  from  one  of  the  Abencer- 
rages,  the  most  gallant  of  Moorish  cavaliers,  who  had  embraced 
the  Christian  faith  on  being  exiled  from  the  walls  of  Granada. 


114  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

The  injured  pride  of  the  father,  however,  was  not  to  be 
appeased.  He  never  savr  his  son  afterwards,  and  on  dying 
left  him  but  a  scanty  portion  of  his  estate ;  bequeathing  the  resi- 
due, in  the  piety  and  bitterness  of  his  heart,  to  the  erection  of 
convents,  and  the  performance  of  masses  for  souLi  in  purga- 
tory. Don  Felix  resided  for  a  long  time  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Valladolid,  in  a  state  of  embarrassment  and  obscurity.  He 
devoted  himself  to  intense  study,  having,  while  at  the  univer- 
sity of  Salamanca,  imbibed  a  taste  for  the  secret  sciences.  He 
was  enthusiastic  and  speculative ;  he  went  on  from  one  branch 
of  knowledge  to  another,  until  he  became  zealous  in  the  search 
after  the  grand  Arcanum. 

He  had  at  first  engaged  in  the  pursuit  with  the  hopes  of  rais- 
ing himself  from  his  present  obscurity,  and  resuming  the  rank 
and  dignity  to  which  his  birth  entitled  him ;  but,  as  usual,  it 
ended  in  absorbing  every  thought,  and  becoming  the  busi- 
ness of  his  existence.  He  was  at  length  aroused  from  this 
mental  abstraction,  by  the  calamities  of  his  household.  A 
malignant  fever  swept  off  his  wife  and  all  his  children,  except- 
ing an  infant  daughter.  These  losses  for  a  time  overwhelmed 
and  stupefied  him.  His  home  had  in  a  manner  died  away  from 
around  him,  and  he  felt  lonely  and  forlorn.  When  his  spirit 
revived  within  him,  he  determined  to  abandon  the  scene  of  his 
humiliation  and  disaster;  to  bear  away  the  child  that  was  still 
left  him  beyond  the  scene  of  contagion,  and  never  to  return 
to  Castile  until  he  should  be  enabled  to  reclaim  the  honours  ol 
his  line. 

He  had  ever  since  been  wandering  and  unsettled  in  his  abode ; 
— sometimes  the  resident  of  populous  cities,  at  other  times  ol 
alsolute  solitudes.  He  had  searched  libraries,  meditated  on 
inscriptions,  visited  adepts  of  different  countries,  and  sought 
to  gather  and  concentrate  the  rays  which  had  been  thrown  by 
various  minds  upon  the  secrets  of  alchymy.  He  had  at  one 
time  travelled  quite  to  Padua  to  search  for  the  manuscripts  of 
Pietro  d'Abano,  and  to  inspect  an  urn  which  had  been  dug  up 
near  Este,  supposed  to  have  been  buried  by  Maximus  Olybius, 
and  to  have  contained  the  grand  elixir.* 

*  This  urn  was  found  in  1533.  It  contained  a  lesser  one,  in  which  was  a  burning 
lamp  betwixt  two  small  vials,  the  one  of  gold,  the  other  of  silver,  both  of  them  full 
of  a  very  clear  liquor.  On  the  largest  was  an  inscription,  stating  that  Maxiinu* 
Olybius  shut  up  in  this  small  vessel  elements  which  he  had  prepaml  with  trrcat  toil. 
There  were  many  disquisitions  among  the  learned  on  the  subject.  It  was  th>-  m..-ct 
received  opinion,  that  this  Mazimui  Olybius  was  an  inhabitant  of  Padua,  that  he 


TSE  STUDENT  0V  SALAMANCA.  H5 

While  at  Padua,  he  had  met  with  an  adept  versed  in  Arabian 
lore,  who  talked  of  the  invaluable  manuscripts  that  must  re- 
main in  the  Spanish  libraries,  preserved  from  the  spoils  of  the 
Moorish  academies  and  universities ;  of  the  probability  of  meet" 
ing  with  precious  unpublished  writings  of  Geber,  and  Alf  ara- 
bius,  and  Avicenna,  the  great  physicians  of  the  Arabian  schools, 
who,  it  was  well  known,  had  treated  much  of  alchymy ;  but, 
above  all,  he  spoke  of  the  Arabian  tablets  of  lead,  which  had 
recently  been  dug  up  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Granada,  and 
which,  it  was  confidently  believed  among  adepts,  contained 
the  lost  secrets  of  the  art. 

The  indefatigable  alchymist  once  more  bent  his  steps  for 
Spain,  full  of  renovated  hope.  He  had  made  his  way  to  Gra- 
nada :  he  had  wearied  himself  in  the  study  of  Arabic,  in  decipher- 
ing inscriptions,  in  rummaging  libraries,  and  exploring  every 
possible  trace  left  by  the  Arabian  sages. 

In  all  his  wanderings,  he  had  been  accompanied  by  Inez 
through  the  rough  and  the  smooth,  the  pleasant  and  the  ad- 
verse; never  complaining,  but  rather  seeking  to  soothe  his 
cares  by  her  innocent  and  playful  caresses.  Her  instruction 
had  been  the  employment  and  the  delight  of  his  hours  of  relax- 
ation. She  had  grown  up  while  they  were  wandering,  and  had 
scarcely  ever  known  any  home  but  by  his  side.  He  was  family, 
friends,  home,  everything  to  her.  He  had  carried  her  in  his 
arms,  when  they  first  began  their  wayfaring ;  had  nestled  her, 
as  an  eagle  does  its  young,  among  the  rocky  heights  of  the  Sierra 
Morena ;  she  had  sported  about  him  in  childhood,  in  the  soli- 
tudes of  the  Bateucas ;  had  followed  him,  as  a  lamb  does  the 
shepherd,  over  the  rugged  Pyrenees,  and  into  the  fair  plains 
of  Languedoc ;  and  now  she  was  grown  up  to  support  his  feeble 
steps  among  the  ruined  abodes  of  her  maternal  ancestors. 

His  property  had  gradually  wasted  away,  in  the  course  of 
his  travels  and  his  experiments.  Still  hope,  the  constant  at- 
tendant of  the  alchymist,  had  led  him  on ;  ever  on  the  point  of 
reaping  the  reward  of  his  labours,  and  ever  disappointed.  With 
the  credulity  that  often  attended  his  art,  he  attributed  many 
of  his  disappointments  to  the  machination  of  the  malignant 
spirits  that  beset  the  paths  of  the  alchymist  and  torment  him 
in  his  solitary  labours.  "  It  is  their  constant  endeavour, "  he  ob- 

had  discovered  the  great  secret,  and  that  these  vessels  contained  liquor,  one  to 
transmute  metals  to  gold,  and  other  to  silver.  The  peasants  who  found  the  urns, 
imagining  this  precious  liquor  to  be  common  water,  spilt  every  drop,  so  that  the 
Art  of  transmuting  metals  remains  as  much  a  secret  as  ever. 


116  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

served,  "to  close  up  every  avenue  to  those  sublime  tvuths, 
which  would  enable  man  to  rise  above  the  abject  state  into 
which  he  has  fallen,  and  to  return  to  his  original  perfection." 
To  the  evil  offices  of  these  demons,  he  attributed  his  late  dis- 
aster. He  had  been  on  the  very  verge  of  the  glorious  discovery ; 
never  were  the  indications  more  completely  auspicious ;  all  was 
going  on  prosperously,  when,  at  the  critical  moment  which 
should  have  crowned  his  labours  with  success,  and  have  placed 
him  at  the  very  summit  of  human  power  and  felicity,  the 
bursting  of  a  retort  had  reduced  his  laboratory  and  himself  to 
ruins. 

"I  must  now,"  said  he,  "give  up  at  the  very  threshold  of 
success.  My  books  and  papers  are  burnt;  my  apparatus  is 
broken.  I  am  too  old  to  bear  up  against  these  evils.  The 
ardour  that  once  inspired  me  is  gone ;  my  poor  frame  is  ex- 
hausted by  study  and  watchfulness,  and  this  last  misfortune 
has  hurried  me  towards  the  grave."  He  concluded  in  a  tone 
of  deep  dejection.  Antonio  endeavoured  to  comfort  and  reas- 
sure him ;  but  the  poor  alchymist  had  for  once  awakened  to  a 
consciousness  of  the  worldly  ills  that  were  gathering  around 
him,  and  had  sunk  into  despondency.  After  a  pause,  and  some 
thoughtfulness  and  perplexity  of  brow,  Antonio  ventured  to 
make  a  proposal. 

"I  have  long,"  said  he,  "been  filled  with  a  love  for  the  secret 
sciences,  but  have  felt  too  ignorant  and  diffident  to  give  myself 
up  to  them.  You  have  acquired  experience ;  you  have  amassed 
the  knowledge  of  a  lif etime ;  it  were  a  pity  it  should  be  thrown 
away.  You  say  you  are  too  old  to  renew  the  toils  of  the  labo- 
ratory ;  suffer  me  to  undertake  them.  Add  your  knowledge  to 
my  youth  and  activity,  and  what  shall  we  not  accomplish?  As 
a  probationary  fee,  and  a  fund  on  which  to  proceed,  I  will  bring 
into  the  common  stock  a  sum  of  gold,  the  residue  of  a  legacy, 
which  has  enabled  me  to  complete  my  education.  A  poor  scholar 
cannot  boast  much ;  but  I  trust  we  shall  soon  put  ourselves  be- 
yond the  reach  of  want ;  and  if  we  should  fail,  why,  I  must 
depend,  like  other  scholars,  upon  my  brains  to  carry  me  through 
the  world." 

The  philosopher's  spirits,  however,  were  more  depressed  than 
the  student  had  imagined.  This  last  shock,  following  in  the 
rear  of  so  many  disappointments,  had  almost  destroyed  the 
reaction  of  his  mind.  The  fire  of  an  enthusiast,  however,  is 
never  so  low  but  that  it  may  be  blown  again  into  a  flame.  By 
degrees,  the  old  man  was  cheered  and  reanimated  by  the 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  117 

ancy  and  ardour  of  his  sanguine  companion.  He  at  length 
agreed  to  accept  of  the  services  of  the  student,  and  once  more 
to  renew  his  experiments.  He  objected,  however,  to  using  the 
student's  gold,  notwithstanding  that  his  own  was  nearly  ex- 
hausted; but  this  objection  was  soon  overcome;  the  student 
insisted  on  making  it  a  common  stock  and  common  cause ; — 
and  then  how  absurd  was  any  delicacy  about  such  a  trifle,  with 
men  who  looked  forward  to  discovering  the  philosopher's  stone  1 

While,  therefore,  the  alchymist  was  slowly  recovering,  the 
student  busied  himself  in  getting  the  laboratory  once  more  in 
order.  It  was  strewed  with  the  wrecks  of  retorts  and  alembics, 
with  old  crucibles,  boxes  and  phials  of  powders  and  tinctures, 
and  half -burnt  books  and  manuscripts. 

As  soon  as  the  old  man  was  sufficiently  recovered,  the  studies 
and  experiments  were  renewed.  The  student  became  a  privi- 
leged and  frequent  visitor,  and  was  indefatigable  in  his  toils  in  the 
laboratory.  The  philosopher  daily  derived  new  zeal  and  spirits 
from  the  animation  of  his  disciple.  He  was  now  enabled  to  pros- 
ecute the  enterprise  with  continued  exertion,  having  so  active  a 
coadjutor  to  divide  the  toil.  While  he  was  poring  over  the  writ- 
ings of  Sandivogius,  and  Philalethes,  and  Dominus  de  Nuys- 
ment,  and  endeavouring  to  comprehend  the  symbolical  language 
in  which  they  have  locked  up  their  mysteries,  Antonio  would 
occupy  himself  among  the  retorts  and  crucibles,  and  keep  the 
furnace  in  a  perpetual  glow. 

With  all  his  zeal,  however,  for  the  discovery  of  the  golden 
art,  the  feelings  of  the  student  had  not  cooled  as  to  the  object 
that  first  drew  him  to  this  ruinous  mansion.  During  the  old 
man's  illness,  he  had  frequent  opportunities  of  being  near  the 
daughter;  and  every  day  made  him  more  sensible  to  her 
charms.  There  was  a  pure  simplicity,  and  an  almost  passive 
gentleness,  in  her  manners ;  yet  with  all  this  was  mingled  some- 
thing, whether  mere  maiden  shyness,  or  a  consciousness  of  high 
descent,  or  a  dash  of  Castilian  pride,  or  perhaps  all  united, 
that  prevented  undue  familiarity,  and  made  her  difficult  of 
approach.  The  danger  of  her  father,  and  the  measures  to  be 
taken  for  his  relief,  had  at  first  overcome  this  coyness  and 
reserve;  but  as  he  recovered  and  her  alarm  subsided,  she 
seemed  to  shrink  from  the  familiarity  she  had  indulged  with 
the  youthful  stranger,  and  to  become  every  day  more  shy  and 
silent. 

Antonio  had  read  many  books,  but  this  was  the  first  volume 
of  womankind  that  he  had  ever  studied.  He  had.  l»een  capti- 


118  BRACEBRIDGE  I1ALL. 

rated  with  the  very  title-page;  but  the  further  he  read,  the 
more  he  was  delighted.  She  seemed  formed  to  love ;  her  soft 
black  eye  rolled  languidly  under  its  long  silken  lashes,  and 
wherever  it  turned,  it  would  linger  and  repose;  there  was  ten- 
derness in  every  beam.  To  him  alone  she  was  reserved  and 
distant.  Now  that  the  common  cares  of  the  sick-room  were  at 
an  end,  he  saw  little  more  of  her  than  before  his  admission  to 
the  house.  Sometimes  he  met  her  on  his  way  to  and  from  the 
laboratory,  and  at  such  times  there  was  ever  a  smile  and  a 
blush;  but,  after  a  simple  salutation,  she  glided  on  and  dis- 
appeared. 

"Tis  plain,"  thought  Antonio,  "my  presence  is  indifferent, 
if  not  irksome  to  her.  She  has  noticed  my  admiration,  and  is 
determined  to  discourage  it ;  nothing  but  a  feeling  of  gratitude 
prevents  her  treating  me  with  marked  distaste — and  then  has 
she  not  another  lover,  rich,  gallant,  splendid,  musical?  how  can 
I  suppose  she  would  turn  her  eyes  from  so  brilliant  a  cavalier, 
to  a  poor  obscure  student,  raking  among  the  cinders  of  her 
father's  laboratory  ?" 

Indeed,  the  idea  of  the  amorous  serenader  continually 
haunted  his  mind.  He  felt  convinced  that  he  was  a  favoured 
lover;  yet,  if  so,  why  did  he  not  frequent  the  tower?— why  did 
he  not  make  his  approaches  by  noon-day?  There  was  mystery 
in  this  eavesdropping  and  musical  courtship.  Surely  Inez 
could  not  be  encouraging  a  secret  intrigue  I  Oh !  no !  she  was 
too  artless,  too  pure,  too  ingenuous  1  But  then  the  Spanish 
females  were  so  prone  to  love  and  intrigue;  and  music  and 
moonlight  were  so  seductive,  and  Inez  had  such  a  tender  soul 
languishing  in  every  look. — "Oh!"  would  the  poor  scholar 
exclaim,  clasping  his  hands,  "oh,  that  I  could  but  once  behold 
those  loving  eyes  beaming  on  me  with  affection  I" 

It  is  incredible  to  those  who  have  not  experienced  it,  on  what 
scanty  aliment  human  life  and  human  love  may  be  supported. 
A  dry  crust,  thrown  now  and  then  to  a  starving  man,  will  give 
him  a  new  lease  of  existence ;  and  a  faint  smile,  or  a  kind  look, 
bestowed  at  casual  intervals,  will  keep  a  lover  loving  on,  when 
a  man  in  his  sober  senses  would  despair. 

When  Antonio  found  himself  alone  in  the  laboratory,  his 
mind  would  be  haunted  by  one  of  these  looks,  or  smiles,  which 
he  had  received  in  passing.  He  would  set  it  in  every  possible 
light,  and  argue  on  it  with  all  the  self -pleasing,  self -teasing  logic 
of  a  lover. 

The  country  around  him  was  enough  to  awaken  that  volup- 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  H9 

tuousness  of  feeling  so  favourable  to  the  growth  of  passion. 
The  window  of  the  tower  rose  above  the  trees  of  the  romantic 
valley  of  the  Darro,  and  looked  down  upon  some  of  the  love- 
liest scenery  of  the  Vega,  where  groves  of  citron  and  orange 
were  refreshed  by  cool  springs  and  brooks  of  the  purest  water. 
The  Xenel  and  the  Darro  wound  their  shining  streams  along 
the  plain,  and  gleamed  from  among  its  bowers.  The  surround- 
ing hills  were  covered  with  vineyards,  and  the  mountains, 
crowned  with  snow,  seemed  to  melt  into  the  blue  sky.  The 
delicate  airs  that  played  about  the  tower  were  perfumed  by  the 
fragrance  of  myrtle  and  orange-blossoms,  and  the  ear  was 
charmed  with  the  fond  warbling  of  the  nightingale,  which,  in 
these  happy  regions,  sings  the  whole  day  long.  Sometimes, 
too,  there  was  the  idle  song  of  the  muleteer,  sauntering  along 
the  solitary  road ;  or  the  notes  of  the  guitar,  from  some  group 
of  peasants  dancing  in  the  shade.  All  these  were  enough  to 
fill  the  head  of  the  young  lover  with  poetic  fancies ;  and  Antonio 
would  picture  to  himself  how  he  could  loiter  among  those  happy 
groves,  and  wander  by  those  gentle  rivers,  and  love  away  his 
life  with  Inez. 

He  felt  at  times  impatient  at  his  own  weakness,  and  would 
endeavour  to  brush  away  these  cobwebs  of  the  mind.  He  would 
turn  his  thoughts,  with  sudden  effort,  to  his  occult  studies,  or 
occupy  himself  in  some  perplexing  process ;  but  often,  when  he 
had  partially  succeeded  in  fixing  his  attention,  the  sound  of 
Inez's  lute,  or  the  soft  notes  of  her  voice,  would  come  stealing 
upon  the  stillness  of  the  chamber,  and,  as  it  were,  float- 
ing round  the  tower.  There  was  no  great  art  in  her  per- 
formance; but  Antonio  thought  he  had  never  heard  music 
comparable  to  this.  It  was  perfect  witchcraft  to  hear  her 
warble  forth  some  of  her  national  melodies ;  those  little  Spanish 
romances  and  Moorish  ballads,  that  transport  the  hearer,  in 
idea,  to  the  banks  of  the  Guadalquivir,  or  the  walls  of  the 
Alhambra,  and  make  him  dream  of  beauties,  and  balconies, 
and  moonlight  serenades. 

Never  was  poor  student  more  sadly  beset  than  Antonio. 
Love  is  a  troublesome  companion  in  a  study,  at  the  best  of 
times ;  but  in  the  laboratory  of  an  alchymist,  his  intrusion  is 
terribly  disastrous.  Instead  of  attending  to  the  retorts  and 
crucibles,  and  watching  the  process  of  some  experiment 
intrusted  to  his  charge,  the  student  would  get  entranced  in  one 
of  these  love-dreams,  from  which  he  would  often  be  aroused  by 
Borne  fatal  catastrophe.  The  philosopher,  on  returning  from 


120  .  BRACEBRWQE  HALL 

his  researches  in  the  libraries,  would  find  every  thing  gond 
•wrong,  and  Antonio  in  despair  over  the  ruins  of  the  whole  day's 
work.  The  old  man,  however,  took  all  quietly,  for  his  had  been 
a  life  of  experiment  and  failure. 

"  We  must  have  patience,  my  son,"  would  he  say,  "  as  all  the 
great  masters  that  have  gone  before  us  have  had.  Errors,  and 
accidents,  and  delays  are  what  we  have  to  contend  with.  Did 
not  Pontanus  err  two  hundred  times,  before  he  could  obtain 
even  the  matter  on  which  to  found  his  experiments?  The  great 
Flamel,  too,  did  he  not  labour  f our-and-twenty  years,  before  he 
ascertained  the  first  agent?  What  difficulties  and  hardships 
did  not  Cartilaceus  encounter,  at  the  very  threshold  of  his  dis- 
coveries? And  Bernard  de  Treves,  even  after  he  had  attained 
a  knowledge  of  all  the  requisites,  was  he  not  delayed  full  tliree 
years?  What  you  consider  accidents,  my  son,  are  the  machina- 
tions of  our  invisible  enemies.  The  treasures  and  golden  secrets 
of  nature  are  surrounded  by  spirits  hostile  to  man.  The  air 
about  us  teems  with  them.  They  lurk  in  the  fire  of  the  fur- 
nace, in  the  bottom  of  the  crucible,  and  the  alembic,  and  are 
ever  on  the  alert  to  take  advantage  of  those  moments  when  our 
minds  are  wandering  from  intense  meditation  on  the  great 
truth  that  we  are  seeking.  We  must  only  strive  the  more  to 
purify  ourselves  from  those  gross  and  earthly  feelings  which 
becloud  the  soul,  and  prevent  her  from  piercing  into  nature's 
arcana." 

"Alas!"  thought  Antonio,  "if  to  be  purified  from  all  earthly 
feeling  requires  that  I  should  cease  to  love  Inez,  I  fear  I  shall 
never  discover  the  philosopher's  stone !" 

In  this  way,  matters  went  on  for  some  time,  at  the  alchy- 
mist's.  Day  after  day  was  sending  the  student's  gold  in  vapour 
up  the  chimney ;  every  blast  of  the  furnace  made  him  a  ducat 
the  poorer,  without  apparently  helping  him  a  jot  nearer  to  the 
golden  secret.  Still  the  young  man  stood  by,  and  saw  piece 
after  piece  disappearing  without  a  murmur :  he  had  daily  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  Inez,  and  felt  as  if  her  favour  would  be 
better  than  silver  or  gold,  and  that  every  smile  was  worth  a 
ducat. 

Sometimes,  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  when  the  toils  of  the 
laboratory  happened  to  be  suspended,  he  would  walk  with  the 
alchymist  in  what  had  once  been  a  garden  belonging  to  the 
mansion.  There  were  still  the  remains  of  terraces  and  balus- 
trades, and  here  and  there  a  marble  urn,  or  mutilated  statue 
overturned,  and  buried  among  weeds  and  flowers  run  wild.  It 


TEE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  121 

was  the  favourite  resort  of  the  alchymist  in  his  hours  of  relaxa- 
tion, where  he  would  give  full  scope  to  his  visionary  flights. 
His  mind  was  tinctured  with  the  Rosicrucian  doctrines.  He 
believed  in  elementary  beings ;  some  favourable,  others  adverse 
to  his  pursuits;  and,  in  the  exaltation  of  his  fancy,  had  often 
imagined  that  he  held  communion  with  them  in  his  solitary 
walks,  about  the  whispering  groves  and  echoing  walls  of  this 
old  garden. 

When  accompanied  by  Antonio,  he  would  prolong  these 
evening  recreations.  Indeed,  he  sometimes  did  it  out  of  con- 
sideration for  his  disciple,  for  he  feared  lest  his  too  close  applica- 
tion, and  his  incessant  seclusion  in  the  tower,  should  be  injuri- 
ous to  his  health.  He  was  delighted  and  surprised  by  this 
extraordinary  zeal  and  perseverance  in  so  young  a  tyro,  and 
looked  upon  him  as  destined  to  be  one  of  the  great  luminaries 
of  the  art.  Lest  the  student  should  repine  at  the  time  lost  in 
these  relaxations,  the  good  alchymist  would  fill  them  up  with 
wholesome  knowledge,  in  matters  connected  with  their  pursuits ; 
and  would  walk  up  and  down  the  alleys  with  his  disciple,  im- 
parting oral  instruction,  like  an  ancient  philosopher.  In  all  his 
visionary  schemes,  there  breathed  a  spirit  of  lofty,  though  chi- 
merical philanthropy,  that  won  the  admiration  of  the  scholar. 
Nothing  sordid  nor  sensual,  nothing  petty  nor  selfish,  seemed 
to  enter  into  his  views,  in  respect  to  the  grand  discoveries  he  was 
anticipating.  On  the  contrary,  his  imagination  kindled  with 
conceptions  of  widely  dispensated  happiness.  He  looked  for- 
ward to  the  time  when  he  should  be  able  to  go  about  the  earth, 
relieving  the  indigent,  comforting  the  distressed ;  and,  by  his 
unlimited  means,  devising  and  executing  plans  for  the  com- 
plete extirpation  of  poverty,  and  all  its  attendant  sufferings 
and  crimes.  Never  were  grander  schemes  for  general  good,  for 
the  distribution  of  boundless  wealth  and  universal  competence, 
devised  than  by  this  poor,  indigent  alchymist  in  his  ruined 
tower. 

Antonio  would  attend  these  peripatetic  lectures  with  all  the 
ardour  of  a  devotee ;  but  there  was  another  circumstance  which 
may  have  given  a  secret  charm  to  them.  The  garden  was  the 
resort  also  of  Inez,  where  she  took  her  walks  of  recreation ;  the 
only  exercise  that  her  secluded  life  permitted.  As  Antonio  was 
diiteously  pacing  by  the  side  of  his  instructor,  he  would  often 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  daughter,  walking  pensively  about 
the  alleys  in  the  soft  twilight.  Sometimes  they  would  meet  her 
Siiexpectedly,  and  the  heart  of  the  student  would  throb  with 


122  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

agitation.  A  blush,  too,  would  crimson  the  cheek  of  Inez,  but 
still  she  passed  on  and  never  joined  them. 

He  had  remained  one  evening  until  rather  a  late  hour  with 
the  alchymist  in  this  favourite  resort.  It  was  a  delightful  night 
after  a  sultry  day,  and  the  balmy  air  of  the  garden  was  pecu^ 
liarly  reviving.  The  old  man  was  seated  on  a  fragment  of  a 
pedestal,  looking  like  a  part  of  the  ruin  on  which  he  sat.  He 
was  edifying  his  pupil  by  long  lessons  of  wisdom  from  the 
stars,  as  they  shone  out  with  brilliant  lustre  in  the  dark-blue 
vault  of  a  southern  sky ;  for  he  was  deeply  versed  in  Behmen, 
and  other  of  the  Rosicrucians,  and  talked  much  of  the  signa- 
ture of  earthly  things  and  passing  events,  which  may  be  dis- 
cerned in  the  heavens ;  of  the  power  of  the  stars  over  corporeal 
beings,  and  their  influence  on  the  fortunes  of  the  sons  of 
men. 

By  degrees  the  moon  rose  and  shed  her  gleaming  light  among 
the  groves.  Antonio  apparently  listened  with  fixed  attention 
to  the  sage,  but  his  ear  was  drinking  in  the  melody  of  Inez's 
voice,  who  was  singing  to  her  lute  in  one  of  the  moonlight 
glades  of  the  garden.  The  old  man,  having  exhausted  his  theme, 
sat  gazing  in  silent  reverie  at  the  heavens.  Antonio  could  not 
resist  an  inclination  to  steal  a  look  at  this  coy  beauty,  who  was 
thus  playing  the  part  of  the  nightingale,  so  sequestered  and 
musical.  Leaving  the  alchymist  in  his  celestial  reverie,  he 
stole  gently  along  one  of  the  alleys.  The  music  had  ceased,  and 
he  thought  he  heard  the  sound  of  voices.  He  came  to  an  angle 
of  a  copse  that  had  screened  a  kind  of  green  recess,  ornamented 
by  a  marble  fountain.  The  moon  shone  full  upon  the  place, 
and  by  its  light  he  beheld  his  unknown,  serenading  rival  at  the 
feet  of  Inez.  He  was  detaining  her  by  the  hand,  which  he 
covered  with  kisses ;  but  at  sight  of  Antonio  he  started  up  and 
hah*  drew  his  sword,  while  Inez,  disengaged,  fled  back  to  the 
house. 

All  the  jealous  doubts  and  fears  of  Antonio  were  now  con- 
firmed. He  did  not  remain  to  encounter  the  resentment  of  his 
happy  rival  at  being  thus  interrupted,  but  turned  from  the 
place  in  sudden  wretchedness  of  heart.  That  Inez  should  love 
another,  would  have  been  misery  enough ;  but  that  she  should 
be  capable  of  a  dishonourable  amour,  shocked  him  to  the  soul. 
The  idea  of  deception  in  so  young  and  apparently  artless  a  being, 
brought  with  it  that  sudden  distrust  in  human  nature,  so  sick- 
ening to  a  youthful  and  ingenuous  mind ;  but  when  he  thought 
of  the  kind,  simple  parent  she  was  deceiving,  whose  affections 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  123 

all  centred  in  her,  he  felt  for  a  moment  a  sentiment  of  indigna- 
tion, and  almost  of  aversion. 

He  found  the  alchymist  still  seated  in  his  visionary  contem- 
plation of  the  moon.  "Come  hither,  my  son,"  said  he,  with 
his  usual  enthusiasm,  "come,  read  with  me  in  this  vast  volume 
of  wisdom,  thus  nightly  unfolded  for  our  perusal.  Wisely  did 
the  Chaldean  sagos  affirm,  that  the  heaven  is  as  a  mystic  page, 
uttering  speech  to  those  who  can  rightly  understand ;  warning 
them  of  good  and  evil,  and  instructing  them  in  the  secret  de- 
crees of  fate." 

The  student's  heart  ached  for  his  venerable  master;  and,  for 
a  moment,  he  felt  the  f utility  of  his  occult  wisdom.  ' '  Alas ! 
poor  old  man!"  thought  he,  "of  what  avails  all  thy  study? 
Little  dost  thou  dream,  while  busied  in  airy  speculations  among 
the  stars,  what  a  treason  against  thy  happiness  is  going  on 
under  thine  eyes;  as  it  were,  in  thy  very  bosom! — Oh  Inez! 
Inez !  where  shall  we  look  for  truth  and  innocence,  where  shall 
we  repose  confidence  in  woman,  if  even  you  can  deceive?" 

It  was  a  trite  apostrophe,  such  as  every  lover  makes  when 
he  finds  his  mistress  not  quite  such  a  goddess  as  he  had 
painted  her.  With  the  student,  however,  it  sprung  from 
honest  anguish  of  heart.  He  returned  to  his  lodgings,  in  piti- 
able confusion  of  mind.  He  now  deplored  the  infatuation  that 
had  led  him  on  until  his  feelings  were  so  thoroughly  engaged. 
He  resolved  to  abandon  his  pursuits  at  the  tower,  and  trust  to 
absence  to  dispel  the  fascination  by  which  he  had  been  spell- 
bound. He  no  longer  thirsted  after  the  discovery  of  the  grand 
elixir:  the  dream  of  alchymy  was  over;  for,  without  Inez, 
what  was  the  value  of  the  philosopher's  stone? 

He  rose,  after  a  sleepless  night,  with  the  determination  of 
taking  his  leave  of  the  alchymist,  and  tearing  himself  from 
Granada.  For  several  days  did  he  rise  with  the  same  resolu- 
tion, and  every  night  saw  him  come  back  to  his  pillow,  to 
repine  at  his  want  of  resolution,  and  to  make  fresh  determina- 
tions for  the  morrow.  In  the  meanwhile,  he  saw  less  of  Inez 
than  ever.  She  no  longer  walked  in  the  garden,  but  remained 
almost  entirely  in  her  apartment.  When  she  met  him,  she 
blushed  more  than  usual ;  and  once  hesitated,  as  if  she  would 
have  spoken ;  but,  after  a  temporary  embarrassment,  and  still 
deeper  blushes,  she  made  some  casual  observation,  and  retired. 
Antonio  read,  in  this  confusion,  a  consciousness  of  fault,  and 
of  that  fault's  being  discovered.  "What  could  she  have 
wished  to  communicate?  Perhaps  to  account  for  the  scene  in 


124  BRACEBRIDQE  HALL. 

the  garden ; — but  how  can  she  account  for  it,  or  why  should 
she  account  for  it  to  me?  What  am  I  to  her? — or  rather, 
what  is  she  to  me?"  exclaimed  he,  impatiently,  with  a  new 
resolution  to  break  through  these  entanglements  of  the  heart, 
and  fly  from  this  enchanted  spot  for  ever. 

He  was  returning  that  very  night  to  his  lodgings,  full  of  tliis 
excellent  determination,  when,  in  a  shadowy  part  of  the  road, 
he  passed  a  person  whom  he  recognized,  by  his  height  and 
form,  for  his  rival :  he  was  going  in  the  direction  of  the  tower. 
If  any  lingering  doubts  remained,  here  was  an  opportunity  of 
settling  them  completely.  He  determined  to  follow  this  un- 
known cavalier,  and,  under  favour  of  the  darkness,  observe  his 
movements.  If  he  obtained  access  to  the  tower,  or  in  any  way 
a  favourable  reception,  Antonio  felt  as  if  it  would  be  a  relief  to 
his  mind,  and  would  enable  him  to  fix  his  wavering  resolution. 

The  unknown,  as  he  came  near  the  tower,  was  more  cautious 
and  stealthy  in  his  approaches.  He  was  joined  under  a  clump 
of  trees  by  another  person,  and  they  had  much  whispering 
together.  A  light  was  burning  in  the  chamber  of  Inez;  the 
curtain  was  down,  but  the  casement  was  left  open,  as  the 
night  was  warm.  After  some  time,  the  light  was  extinguished. 
A  considerable  interval  elapsed.  The  cavalier  and  his  com- 
panion remained  under  covert  of  the  trees,  as  if  keeping 
watch.  At  length  they  approached  the  tower,  with  silent  and 
cautious  steps.  The  cavalier  received  a  dark-lantern  from  his 
companion,  and  threw  off  his  cloak.  The  other  then  softly 
brought  something  from  the  clump  of  trees,  which  Antonio 
perceived  to  be  a  light  ladder :  he  placed  it  against  the  wall, 
and  the  serenader  gently  ascended.  A  sickening  sensation 
came  over  Antonio.  Here  was  indeed  a  confirmation  of  every 
fear.  He  was  about  to  leave  the  place,  never  to  return,  when 
he  heard  a  stifled  shriek  from  Inez's  chamber. 

In  an  instant,  the  fellow  that  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder 
lay  prostrate  on  the  ground.  Antonio  wrested  a  stiletto  from 
his  nerveless  hand,  and  hurried  up  the  ladder.  He  sprang  in 
at  the  window,  and  found  Inez  struggling  hi  the  grasp  of  his 
fancied  rival;  the  latter,  disturbed  from  his  prey,  caught  up 
his  lantern,  turned  its  light  full  upon  Antonio,  and,  drawing 
his  sword,  made  a  furious  assault ;  luckily  the  student  saw  the 
light  gleam  along  the  blade,  and  parried  the  thrust  with  the 
stiletto.  A  fierce,  but  unequal  combat  ensued.  Antonio  fought 
exposed  to  the  full  glare  of  the  light,  while  his  antagonist  was 
in  shadow:  his  stiletto,  too,  was  but  a  poor  defence  against 


THE  STUDENT  Of  SALAMANCA.  125 

&  rapier.  He  saw  that  nothing  would  save  him  but  closing 
with  his  adversary,  and  getting  within  his  weapon :  he  rushed 
furiously  upon  him,  and  gave  him  a  severe  blow  with  the 
stiletto ;  but  received  a  wound  in  return  from  the  shortened 
sword.  At  the  same  moment,  a  blow  was  inflicted  from  be- 
hind, by  the  confederate,  who  had  ascended  the  ladder;  it 
felled  him  to  the  floor,  and  his  antagonists  made  their  escape. 

By  this  time,  the  cries  of  Inez  had  brought  her  father  and 
the  domestic  into  the  room.  Antonio  was  found  weltering  in 
his  blood,  and  senseless.  He  was  conveyed  to  the  chamber  of 
the  alchymist,  who  now  repaid  in  kind  the  attentions  which 
the  student  had  once  bestowed  upon  him.  Among  his  varied 
knowledge  he  possessed  some  skill  in  surgery,  which  at  this 
moment  was  of  more  value  than  even  his  chymical  lore.  He 
stanched  and  dressed  the  wounds  of  his  disciple,  which  on  ex- 
amination proved  less  desperate  than  he  had  at  first  appre- 
hended. For  a  few  days,  however,  his  case  was  anxious,  and 
attended  with  danger.  The  old  man  watched  over  him  with 
the  affection  of  a  parent.  He  felt  a  double  debt  of  gratitude 
towards  him,  on  account  of  his  daughter  and  himself ;  he  loved 
him  too  as  a  faithful  and  zealous  disciple ;  and  he  dreaded  lest 
the  world  should  be  deprived  of  the  promising  talents  of  so 
aspiring  an  alchymist. 

An  excellent  constitution  soon  medicined  his  wounds;  and 
there  was  a  balsam  in  the  looks  and  words  of  Inez,  that  had  a 
healing  effect  on  the  still  severer  wounds  which  he  carried  in 
his  heart.  She  displayed  the  strongest  interest  in  his  safety ; 
she  called  him  her  deliverer,  her  preserver.  It  seemed  as  if 
her  grateful  disposition  sought,  in  the  warmth  of  its  acknowl- 
edgments, to  repay  him  for  past  coldness.  But  what  most 
contributed  to  Antonio's  recovery,  was  her  explanation  con- 
cerning his  supposed  rival.  It  was  some  time  since  he  had  first 
beheld  her  at  church,  and  he  had  ever  since  persecuted  her 
with  his  attentions.  He  had  beset  her  in  her  walks,  until  she 
had  been  obliged  to  confine  herself  to  the  house,  except  when 
accompanied  by  her  father.  He  had  besieged  her  with  letters, 
serenades,  and  every  art  by  which  he  could  urge  a  vehement, 
but  clandestine  and  dishonourable  suit.  The  scene  in  the  gar- 
den was  as  much  of  a  surprise  to  her  as  to  Antonio.  Her  per- 
secutor had  been  attracted  by  her  voice,  and  had  found  his  way 
over  a  ruined  part  of  the  wall.  He  had  come  upon  her  una- 
wares ;  was  detaining  her  by  force,  and  pleading  his  insulting 
passion,  when  the  appearance  of  the  student  interrupted 


126  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

and  enabled  her  to  make  her  escape.  She  had  forborne  to  men 
lion  to  her  father  the  persecution  which  she  suffered;  she 
wished  to  spare  him  unavailing  anxiety  and  distress,  and  had 
determined  to  confine  herself  more  rigorously  to  the  house; 
though  it  appeared  that  even  here  she  had  not  been  safe  from 
his  daring  enterprise. 

Antonio  inquired  whether  she  knew  the  name  of  this  impet- 
uous admirer?  She  replied  that  he  had  made  his  advances 
under  a  fictitious  name;  but  that  she  had  heard  him  once 
called  by  the  name  of  Don  Ambrosio  de  Loxa. 

Antonio  knew  liim,  by  report,  for  one  of  the  most  determined 
and  dangerous  libertines  in  all  Granada.  Artful,  accomplished, 
and,  if  he  chose  to  be  so,  insinuating;  but  daring  and  headlong 
in  the  pursuit  of  his  pleasures ;  violent  and  implacable  in  hia 
resentments.  He  rejoiced  to  find  that  Inez  had  been  proof 
against  his  seductions,  and  had  been  inspired  with  aversion  by 
his  splendid  profligacy ;  but  he  trembled  to  think  of  the  dangers 
she  had  run,  and  he  felt  solicitude  about  the  dangers  that  must 
yet  environ  her. 

At  present,  however,  it  was  probable  the  enemy  had  a  tem- 
porary quietus.  The  traces  of  blood  had  been  found  for  some 
distance  from  the  ladder,  until  they  were  lost  among  thickets ; 
and  as  nothing  had  been  heard  or  seen  of  him  since,  it  was  con- 
cluded that  he  had  been  seriously  wounded. 

As  the  student  recovered  from  his  wounds,  he  was  enabled 
to  join  Inez  and  her  father  in  their  domestic  intercourse.  The 
chamber  in  which  they  usually  met  had  probably  been  a  saloon 
of  state  in  former  times.  The  floor  was  of  marble ;  the  walls 
partially  covered  with  remains  of  tapestry ;  the  chairs,  richly 
carved  and  gilt,  were  crazed  with  age,  and  covered  with  tar- 
nished and  tattered  brocade.  Against  the  wall  hung  a  long 
rusty  rapier,  the  only  relic  that  the  old  man  retained  of  the 
chivalry  of  his  ancestors.  There  might  have  been  something 
to  provoke  a  smile,  in  the  contrast  between  the  mansion  and 
its  inhabitants ;  between  present  poverty  and  the  graces  of 
departed  grandeur ;  but  the  fancy  of  the  student  had  thrown 
so  much  romance  about  the  edifice  and  its  inmates,  that  every 
thing  was  clothed  with  charms.  The  philosopher,  with  his 
broken-down  pride,  and  his  strange  pursuits,  seemed  to  com- 
port with  the  melancholy  ruin  he  inhabited ;  and  there  was  a 
native  elegance  of  spirit  about  the  daughter,  that  showed  she 
would  have  graced  the  mansion  in  its  happier  days. 

What  delicious  moments  were  these  to  the  student!    Inea 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  127 

was  no  longer  coy  and  reserved.  She  was  naturally  artless 
and  confiding ;  though  the  kind  of  persecution  she  had  experi- 
enced from  one  admirer  had  rendered  her,  for  a  time,  suspi- 
cious and  circumspect  toward  the  other.  She  now  felt  an  en- 
tire confidence  in  the  sincerity  and  worth  of  Antonio,  mingled 
with  an  overflowing  gratitude.  When  her  eyes  met  his,  they 
beamed  with  sympathy  and  kindness ;  and  Antonio,  no  longer" 
haunted  by  the  idea  of  a  favoured  rival,  once  more  aspired  to 
success. 

At  these  domestic  meetings,  however,  he  had  little  opportu- 
nity of  paying  his  court,  except  by  looks.  The  alchymist,  sup- 
posing him,  like  himself,  absorbed  in  the  study  of  alchymy, 
endeavoured  to  cheer  the  tediousness  of  his  recovery  by  long 
conversations  on  the  art.  He  even  brought  several  of  his  half- 
burnt  volumes,  which  the  student  had  once  rescued  from  the 
flames,  and  rewarded  him  for  their  preservation,  by  reading 
copious  passages.  He  would  entertain  him  with  the  great  and 
good  acts  of  Flamel,  which  he  effected  through  means  of  the 
philosopher's  stone,  relieving  widows  and  orphans,  founding 
hospitals,  building  churches,  and  what  not ;  or  with  the  inter- 
rogatories of  King  Kalid,  and  the  answers  of  Morienus,  the 
Roman  hermit  of  Hierusalem ;  or  the  profound  questions  which 
Elardus,  a  necromancer  of  the  province  of  Catalonia,  put  to 
the  devil,  touching  the  secrets  of  alchymy,  and  the  devil's 
replies. 

All  these  were  couched  hi  occult  language,  almost  unintelli- 
gible to  the  unpractised  ear  of  the  disciple.  Indeed,  the  old 
man  delighted  in  the  mystic  phrases  and  symbolical  jargon  in 
which  the  writers  that  have  treated  of  alchymy  have  wrapped 
their  communications;  rendering  them  incomprehensible  ex- 
cept to  the  initiated.  With  what  rapture  would  he  elevate  his 
voice  at  a  triumphant  passage,  announcing  the  grand  dis- 
covery!  "  Thou  shalt  see,"  would  he  exclaim,  in  the  words  of 
Henry  Kuhnrade,*  "the  stone  of  the  philosophers  (our  king) 
go  forth  of  the  bed-chamber  of  his  glassy  sepulchre  into  the 
threatre  of  this  world ;  that  is  to  say,  regenerated  and  made 
perfect,  a  shining  carbuncle,  a  most  temperate  splendour,  whose 
most  subtle  and  depurated  parts  are  inseparable,  united  into 
one  with  a  concordial  mixture,  exceeding  equal,  transparent  as 
chrystal,  shining  red  like  a  ruby,  permanently  colouring  or  ring- 
ing, fixt  in  all  temptations  or  tryals ;  yea,  in  the  examination 

*  Amphitheatre  of  the  Eternal  Wisdom. 


128  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

of  the  burning  sulphur  itself,  and  the  devouring  waters,  and  in 
the  most  vehement  persecution  of  the  fire,  always  incombusti- 
ble and  permanent  as  a  salamander !" 

The  student  had  a  lu'gh  veneration  for  the  fathers  of  alchymy, 
and  a  profound  respect  for  his  instructor ;  but  what  was  Henry 
Kuhnrade,  Geber,  Lully,  or  even  Albertus  Magnus  himself, 
compared  to  the  countenance  of  Inez,  wlu'ch  presented  such  a 
page  of  beauty  to  his  perusal?  While,  therefore,  the  good 
alchymist  was  doling  out  knowledge  by  the  hour,  his  disciple 
would  forget  books,  alchymy,  every  thing  but  the  lovely  object 
before  him.  Inez,  too,  unpractised  in  the  science  of  the  heart, 
was  gradually  becoming  fascinated  by  the  silent  attentions  of 
her  lover.  Day  by  day,  she  seemed  more  and  more  perplexed 
by  the  kindling  and  strangely  pleasing  emotions  of  her  bosom. 
Her  eye  was  often  cast  down  in  thought.  Blushes  stole  to  her 
cheek  without  any  apparent  cause,  and  light,  half -suppressed 
sighs  would  follow  these  short  fits  of  musing.  Her  little  bal- 
lads, though  the  same  that  she  had  always  sung,  yet  breathed 
a  more  tender  spirit.  Blither  the  tones  of  her  voice  were  more 
soft  and  touching,  or  some  passages  were  deli vered  with  a  feel- 
ing she  had  never  before  given  them.  Antonio,  beside  his  love 
for  the  abstruse  sciences,  had  a  pretty  turn  for  music;  and 
never  did  philosopher  touch  the  guitar  more  tastefully.  As,  by 
degrees,  he  conquered  the  mutual  embarrassment  that  kept 
them  asunder,  he  ventured  to  accompany  Inez  in  some  of  her 
songs.  He  had  a  voice  full  of  fire  and  tenderness :  as  he  sang, 
one  would  have  thought,  from  the  kindling  blushes  of  his  com- 
panion, that  he  had  been  pleading  his  own  passion  in  her  ear. 
Let  those  who  would  keep  two  youthful  hearts  asunder,  beware 
of  music.  Oh !  this  leaning  over  chairs,  and  conning  the  same 
music-book,  and  entwining  of  voices,  and  melting  away  in 
harmonies!— the  German  waltz  is  nothing  to  it. 

The  worthy  alchymist  saw  nothing  of  all  this.  His  mind 
could  admit  of  no  idea  that  was  not  connected  with  the  dis- 
covery of  the  grand  arcanum,  and  he  supposed  his  youthful 
coadjutor  equally  devoted.  He  was  a  mere  child  as  to  human 
nature ;  and,  as  to  the  passion  of  love,  whatever  he  might  once 
have  felt  of  it,  he  had  long  since  forgotten  that  there  was  such 
an  idle  passion  in  existence.  But,  while  he  dreamed,  the  silent 
amour  went  on.  The  very  quiet  and  seclusion  of  the  place 
were  favourable  to  the  growth  of  romantic  passion.  The  open- 
ing bud  of  love  was  able  to  put  forth  leaf  by  leaf,  without  an 
adverse  wind  to  check  its  growth.  There  was  neither  officious 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  129 

friendship  to  chill  by  its  advice,  nor  insidious  envy  to  wither 
by  its  sneers,  nor  an  observing  world  to  look  on  and  stare  it 
ouj;  of  countenance.  There  was  neither  declaration,  nor  vow, 
nor  any  other  form  of  Cupid's  canting  school.  Their  hearts 
mingled  together,  and  understood  each  other  without  the  aid 
of  language.  They  lapsed  into  the  full  current  of  affection, 
unconscious  of  its  depth,  and  thoughtless  of  the  rocks  that 
might  lurk  beneath  its  surface.  Happy  lovers!  who  wanted 
nothing  to  make  their  f eh' city  complete,  but  the  discovery  of 
the  philosopher's  stone ! 

At  length,  Antonio's  health  was  sufficiently  restored  to  ena- 
ble him  to  return  to  his  lodgings  in  Granada.  He  felt  uneasy, 
however,  at  leaving  the  tower,  while  lurking  danger  might 
surround  its  almost  defenceless  inmates.  He  dreaded  lest  Don 
Ambrosio,  recovered  from  his  wounds,  might  plot  some  new 
attempt,  by  secret  art,  or  open  violence.  From  all  that  he  had 
heard,  he  knew  him  to  be  too  implacable  to  suffer  his  defeat  to 
pass  unavenged,  and  too  rash  and  fearless,  when  his  arts  were 
unavailing,  to  stop  at  any  daring  deed  in  the  accomplishment 
of  his  purposes.  He  urged  his  apprehensions  to  the  alchymist 
and  his  daughter,  and  proposed  that  they  should  abandon  the 
dangerous  vicinity  of  Granada. 

"I  have  relations,"  said  he,  "in  Valentia,  poor  indeed,  but 
worthy  and  affectionate.  Among  them  you  will  find  friend- 
ship and  quiet,  and  we  may  there  pursue  our  labours  unmo- 
lested." He  went  on  to  paint  the  beauties  and  delights  of  Va- 
lentia, with  all  the  fondness  of  a  native,  and  all  the  eloquence 
with  which  a  lover  paints  the  fields  and  groves  which  he  is 
picturing  as  the  future  scenes  of  his  happiness.  His  eloquence, 
backed  by  the  apprehensions  of  Inez,  was  successful  with  the 
alchymist,  who,  indeed,  had  led  too  unsettled  a  life  to  be  par- 
ticular about  the  place  of  his  residence ;  and  it  was  determined, 
that,  as  soon  as  Antonio's  health  was  perfectly  restored,  they 
should  abandon  the  tower,  and  seek  the  delicious  neighbourhood 
of  Valentia.* 

*  Here  are  the  strongest  silks,  the  sweetest  wines,  the  excellent'st  almonds,  the 
best  oyls,  and  beautifull'st  females  of  all  Spain.  The  very  bruit  animals  make 
themselves  beds  of  rosemary,  and  other  fragrant  flowers  hereabouts;  and  when  one 
is  at  sea,  if  the  winde  blow  from  the  shore,  he  may  smell  this  soyl  before  he  comes 
in  sight  of  it,  many  leagues  off,  by  the  strong  odoriferous  scent  it  casts.  As  it  is  the 
most  pleasant,  so  it  is  also  the  temperat'st  clime  of  all  Spain,  and  they  commonly 
call  it  the  second  Italy;  which  made  the  Moors,  whereof  many  thousands  were  dis- 
terr'd,  and  banish'd  hence  to  Barbary,  to  think  that  Paradise  was  in  that  part  of 
the  heavens  which  hung  over  this  citie.— HOWBLL'S  Letters. 


130  BRACEBR1DQK  HALL. 

To  recruit  his  strength,  the  student  suspended  his  toils  in  the 
laboratory,  and  spent  the  few  remaining  days,  before  departure, 
in  taking  a  farewell  look  at  the  enchanting  environs  of  Grana- 
da. He  felt  returning  health  and  vigour,  as  he  inhaled  the  pure 
temperate  breezes  that  play  about  its  bills ;  and  the  happy  state 
of  his  mind  contributed  to  bis  rapid  recovery.  Inez  was  often 
the  companion  of  his  walks.  Her  descent,  by  the  mother's  sido, 
from  one  of  the  ancient  Moorish  families,  gave  her  an  int< 
in  this  once  favourite  seat  of  Arabian  power.  She  gazed  with 
enthusiasm  upon  its  magnificent  monuments,  and  her  memory 
was  filled  with  the  traditional  tales  and  ballads  of  Mooivh 
chivalry.  Indeed,  the  solitary  life  she  had  led,  and  the  vision- 
ary turn  of  her  father's  mind,  had  produced  an  effect  upon  her 
character,  and  given  it  a  tinge  of  what,  in  modern  days,  would 
be  termed  romance.  All  this  was  called  into  full  force  by  this 
new  passage ;  for,  when  a  woman  first  begins  to  love,  lif e  is  all 
romance  to  her. 

In  one  of  their  evening  strolls,  they  had  ascended  to  the 
mountain  of  the  Sun,  where  is  situated  the  Generaliffe,  the 
palace  of  pleasure,  in  the  days  of  Moorish  dominion,  but  now  a 
gloomy  convent  of  Capuchins.  They  had  wandered  about  its 
garden,  among  groves  of  orange,  citron,  and  cypress,  where 
the  waters,  leaping  in  torrents,  or  gushing  in  fountains,  or 
tossed  aloft  in  sparkling  jets,  fill  the  air  with  music  and  fresh- 
ness. There  is  a  melancholy  mingled  with  all  the  beauties  of 
this  garden,  that  gradually  stole  over  the  f eelings  of  the  lovers. 
The  place  is  full  of  the  sad  story  of  past  times.  It  was  the 
favourite  abode  of  the  lovely  queen  of  Granada,  where  she  was 
surrounded  by  the  delights  of  a  gay  and  voluptuous  court.  It 
was  here,  too,  amidst  her  own  bowers  of  roses,  that  her  slan- 
derers laid  the  base  story  of  her  dishonour,  and  struck  a  fatal 
blow  to  the  line  of  the  gallant  Abencerrages. 

The  whole  garden  has  a  look  of  ruin  and  neglect.  Many  of 
the  fountains  are  dry  and  broken ;  the  streams  have  wandered 
from  their  marble  channels,  and  are  choked  by  weeds  and  yel- 
low leaves.  The  reed  whistles  to  the  wind,  where  it  had  once 
sported  among  roses,  and  shaken  perfume  from  the  orange- 
blossom.  The  convent-bell  flings  its  sullen  sound,  or  the 
drowsy  vesper-hymn  floats  along  these  solitudes,  which  once 
resounded  with  the  song,  and  the  dance,  and  the  lover's  sere- 
nade. Well  may  the  Moors  lament  over  the  loss  of  this  earthly 
paradise;  well  may  they  remember  it  in  their  prayers,  and 
beseech  Heaven  to  restore  it  to  the  faithful;  well  may  their 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  131 

ambassadors  smite  their  breasts  when  they  behold  these  monu- 
ments of  their  race,  and  sit  down  and  weep  among  the  fading 
glories  of  Granada ! 

It  is  impossible  to  wander  about  these  scenes  of  departed  love 
and  gayety,  and  not  feel  the  tenderness  of  the  heart  awakened. 
It  was  then  that  Antonio  first  ventured  to  breathe  his  passion, 
and  to  express  by  words  what  his  eyes  had  long  since  so  elo- 
quently revealed.  He  made  his  avowal  with  fervour,  but  with 
frankness.  He  had  no  gay  prospects  to  hold  out:  he  was  a 
poor  scholar,  dependent  on  his  "good  spirits  to  feed  and  clothe 
him."  But  a  woman  in  love  is  no  interested  calculator.  Inez 
listened  to  him  with  downcast  eyes,  but  in  them  was  a  humid 
gleam  that  showed  her  heart  was  with  him.  She  had  no  pru- 
dery in  her  nature ;  and  she  had  not  been  sufficiently  in  society 
to  acquire  it.  She  loved  him  with  all  the  absence  of  worldli- 
ness  of  a  genuine  woman;  and,  amidst  timid  smiles  and 
blushes,  he  drew  from  her  a  modest  acknowledgment  of  her 
affection. 

They  wandered  about  the  garden,  with  that  sweet  intoxica- 
tion of  the  soul  which  none  but  happy  lovers  know.  The  world 
about  them  was  all  fairy  land ;  and,  indeed,  it  spread  forth  one 
of  its  fairest  scenes  before  their  eyes,  as  if  to  fulfil  their  dream 
of  earthly  happiness.  They  looked  out  from  between  groves  of 
orange,  upon  the  towers  of  Granada  below  them ;  the  magnifi- 
cent plain  of  the  Vega  beyond,  streaked  with  evening  sunshine, 
and  the  distant  hills  tinted  with  rosy  and  purple  hues:  it 
seemed  an  emblem  of  the  happy  future,  that  love  and  hope 
were  decking  out  for  them. 

As  if  to  make  the  scene  complete,  a  group  of  Andalusians 
struck  up  a  dance,  in  one  of  the  vistas  of  the  garden,  to  the 
guitars  of  two  wandering  musicians.  The  Spanish  music  is 
wild  and  plaintive,  yet  the  people  dance  to  it  with  spirit  and 
enthusiasm.  The  picturesque  figures  of  the  dancers ;  the  girls 
with  their  hair  in  silken  nets  that  hung  in  knots  and  tassels 
down  their  backs,  their  mantillas  floating  round  their  graceful 
forms,  their  slender  feet  peeping  from  under  their  basquinas, 
their  arms  tossed  up  in  the  air  to  play  the  castanets,  had  a 
beautiful  effect  on  this  airy  height,  with  the  rich  evening  land- 
scape spreading  out  below  them. 

When  the  dance  was  ended,  two  of  the  parties  approached 
Antonio  and  Inez ;  one  of  them  began  a  soft  and  tender  Moorish 
ballad,  accompanied  by  the  other  on  the  lute.  It  alluded  to 
the  story  of  the  garden,  the  wrongs  of  the  fair  queen  of  Gra- 


132  BRACEBllIUGE  HALL. 

nada,  and  the  misfortunes  of  the  Abencerrages.  It  was  one  oi 
those  old  ballads  that  abound  in  this  part  of  Spain,  and  live, 
like  echoes,  about  the  ruins  of  Moorish  greatness.  The  heart 
of  Inez  was  at  that  moment  open  to  every  tender  impression ; 
the  tears  rose  into  her  eyes,  as  she  listened  to  the  tale.  The 
singer  approached  nearer  to  her;  she  was  striking  in  her  ap- 
pearance ;— young,  beautiful,  with  a  mixture  of  wildness  and 
melancholy  in  her  fine  black  eyes.  She  fixed  them  mournfully 
and  expressively  on  Inez,  and,  suddenly  varying  her  manner, 
sang  another  ballad,  which  treated  of  impending  danger  and 
treachery.  All  this  might  have  passed  for  a  mere  accidental 
caprice  of  the  singer,  had  there  not  been  something  in  her  look, 
manner,  and  gesticulation  that  made  it  pointed  and  startling. 
Inez  was  about  to  ask  the  meaning  of  this  evidently  personal 
application  of  the  song,  when  she  was  interrupted  by  Antonio, 
who  gently  drew  her  from  the  place.  Whilst  she  had  been  lost 
in  attention  to  the  music,  he  had  remarked  a  group  of  men,  in 
the  shadows  of  the  trees,  whispering  together.  They  were 
enveloped  in  the  broad  hats  and  great  cloaks  so  much  worn  by 
the  Spanish,  and,  while  they  were  regarding  himself  and  Inez 
attentively,  seemed  anxious  to  avoid  observation.  Not  know- 
ing what  might  be  their  character  or  intention,  he  hastened  to 
quit  a  place  where  the  gathering  shadows  of  evening  might  ex- 
pose them  to  intrusion  and  insult.  On  their  way  down  the 
hill,  as  they  passed  through  the  wood  of  elms,  mingled  with 
poplars  and  oleanders,  that  skirts  the  road  leading  from  the 
Alhambra,  he  again  saw  these  men  apparently  following  at  a 
distance ;  and  he  afterwards  caught  sight  of  them  among  the 
trees  on  the  banks  of  the  Darro.  He  said  nothing  on  the  sub- 
ject to  Inez,  nor  her  father,  for  he  would  not  awaken  unneces- 
sary alarm ;  but  he  felt  at  a  loss  how  to  ascertain  or  to  avert 
|any  machinations  that  might  be  devising  against  the  helpless 
•inhabitants  of  the  tower. 

'  He  took  his  leave  of  them  late  at  night,  full  of  this  perplex- 
ity. As  he  left  the  dreary  old  pile,  he  saw  some  one  lurking  in 
the  shadow  of  the  wall,  apparently  watching  his  movements. 
He  hastened  after  the  figure,  but  it  glided  away,  and  dis- 
appeared among  some  ruins.  Shortly  after  he  heard  a  low 
whistle,  which  was  answered  from  a  little  distance.  He  had  no 
longer  a  doubt  but  that  some  mischief  was  on  foot,  and  turned 
to  hasten  back  to  the  tower,  and  put  its  inmates  on  their 
guard.  He  had  scarcely  turned,  however,  before  he  found 
himself  suddenly  seized  from  behind  by  some  one  of  Herculean 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  133 

strength.  His  struggles  were  in  vain ;  he  was  surrounded  by 
armed  men.  One  threw  a  mantle  over  him  that  stifled  his 
cries,  and  enveloped  him  in  its  folds ;  and  he  was  hurried  off 
with  irresistible  rapidity. 

The  next  day  passed  without  the  appearance  of  Antonio  at 
the  alchymist's.  Another,  and  another  day  succeeded,  and 
yet  he  did  not  come ;  nor  had  any  tiling  been  heard  of  him  at 
his  lodgings.  His  absence  caused,  at  first,  surprise  and  con- 
jecture, and  at  length  alarm.  Inez  recollected  the  singular 
intimations  of  the  ballad-singer  upon  the  mountain,  which 
seemed  to  warn  her  of  impending  danger,  and  her  mind  was 
full  of  vague  forebodings.  She  sat  listening  to  every  sound  at 
the  gate,  or  footstep  on  the  stairs.  She  would  take  up  her 
guitar  and  strike  a  few  notes,  but  it  would  not  do ;  her  heart 
was  sickening  with  suspense  and  anxiety.  She  had  never  be- 
fore felt  what  it  was  to  be  really  lonely.  She  now  was  con- 
scious of  the  force  of  that  attachment  which  had  taken  posses- 
sion of  her  breast ;  for  never  do  we  know  how  much  we  love, 
never  do  we  know  how  necessary  the  object  of  our  love  is  to 
our  happiness,  until  we  experience  the  weary  void  of  separa- 
tion. 

The  philosopher,  too,  felt  the  absence  of  his  disciple  almost 
as  sensibly  as  did  his  daughter.  The  animating  buoyancy  of 
the  youth  had  inspired  him  with  new  ardour,  and  had  given  to 
his  labours  the  charm  of  full  companionship.  However,  he  had 
resources  and  consolations  of  which  his  daughter  was  desti- 
tute. His  pursuits  were  of  a  nature  to  occupy  every  thought, 
and  keep  the  spirits  in  a  state  of  continual  excitement.  Cer- 
tain indications,  too,  had  lately  manifested  themselves,  of  the 
most  favourable  nature.  Forty  days  and  forty  nights  had  the 
process  gone  on  successfully ;  the  old  man's  hopes  were  con- 
stantly rising,  and  he  now  considered  the  glorious  moment 
once  more  at  hand,  when  he  should  obtain  not  merely  the 
major  lunaria,  but  likewise  the  tinctura  Solaris,  the  means  of 
multiplying  gold,  and  of  prolonging  existence.  He  remained, 
therefore,  continually  shut  up  in  his  laboratory,  watching  his 
furnace ;  for  a  moment's  inadvertency  might  once  more  defeat 
all  his  expectations. 

He  was  sitting  one  evening  at  one  of  his  solitary  vigils, 
wrapped  up  in  meditation ;  the  hour  was  late,  and  his  neigh- 
bour, the  owl,  was  hooting  from  the  battlement  of  the  tower, 
when  he  heard  the  door  open  behind  him.  Supposing  it  to 
be  his  daughter  coming  to  take  her  leave  of  him  for  the  night, 


134  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

as  was  herfrequent  practice,  he  called  her  by  name,  but  a  harsh 
voice  me  this  ear  in  reply.  He  was  grasped  by  the  arms,  and, 
looking  up,  perceived  three  strange  men  in  the  chamber.  He 
attempted  to  shake  them  off,  but  in  vain.  He  called  for  help, 
but  they  scoffed  at  his  cries.  "Peace,  dotard!"  cried  one: 
"think'st  thou  the  servants  of  the  most  holy  inquisition  are 
to  be  daunted  by  thy  clamours?  Comrades,  away  with  him  1" 

Without  heeding  his  remonstrances  and  entreaties,  they 
seized  upon  his  books  and  papers,  took  some  note  of  the  apart 
ment,  and  the  utensils,  and  then  bore  him  off  a  prisoner. 

Inez,  left  to  herself,  had  passed  a  sad  and  lonely  evening; 
seated  by  a  casement  which  looked  into  the  garden,  she  had 
pensively  watched  star  after  star  sparkle  out  of  the  blue  depths 
of  the  sky,  and  was  indulging  a  crowd  of  anxious  thoughts 
about  her  lover,  until  the  rising  tears  began  to  flow.  She  was 
suddenly  alarmed  by  the  sound  of  voices,  that  seemed  to  como 
from  a  distant  part  of  the  mansion.  There  was,  not  long  after, 
a  noise  of  several  persons  descending  the  stairs.  Surprised  at 
these  unusual  sounds  in  their  lonely  habitation,  she  remained 
for  a  few  moments  in  a  state  of  trembling,  yet  indistinct  appre- 
hension, when  the  servant  rushed  into  the  room,  with  terror 
in  her  countenance,  and  informed  her  that  her  father  was  car- 
ried off  by  armed  men. 

Inez  did  not  stop  to  hear  further,  but  flew  down-stairs  to 
overtake  them.  She  had  scarcely  passed  the  threshold,  when 
she  found  herself  in  the  grasp  of  strangers.— "  Away ! — away !" 
cried  she,  wildly,  "do  not  stop  me — let  me  follow  my  father." 

"  We  come  to  conduct  you  to  him,  senora,"  said  one  of  the 
men,  respectfully. 

"Where  is  he,  then?" 

"  He  is  gone  to  Granada,"  replied  the  man :  " an  unexpected 
circumstance  requires  his  presence  there  immediately ;  but  he 
is  among  friends," 

"  We  have  no  friends  in  Granada,"  said  Inez,  drawing  back; 
but  then  the  idea  of  Antonio  rushed  into  her  mind ;  something 
relating  to  him  might  have  call  her  father  thither.  "Is  senor 
Antonio  de  Castros  with  him  ?"  demanded  she,  with  agitation. 

"  I  know  not,  senora,"  replied  the  man.  "  It  is  very  possible. 
I  only  know  that  your  father  is  among  friends,  and  is  anxious 
for  you  to  follow  him." 

"Let  us  go,  then,"  cried  she,  eagerly.  The  men  led  her  a 
little  distance  to  where  a  mule  was  waiting,  and,  assisting 
her  to  mount,  they  conducted  her  slowly  towards  the  city. 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA,  135 

Granada  -was  on  that  evening  a  scene  of  fanciful  revel.  It 
was,  one  of  the  festivals  of  the  Maestranza,  an  association  of 
the  nobility  to  keep  up  some  of  the  gallant  customs  of  ancient 
chivalry.  There  had  been  a  representation  of  a  tournament 
in  one  of  the  squares ;  the  streets  would  still  occasionally  re- 
sound with  the  beat  of  a  solitary  drum,  or  the  bray  of  a  trum- 
pet from  some  straggling  party  of  revellers.  Sometimes  they 
were  met  by  cavaliers,  richly  dressed  in  ancient  costumes,  at- 
tended by  their  squires ;  and  at  one  time  they  passed  in  sight 
of  a  palace  brilliantly  illuminated,  from  whence  came  the  min- 
gled sounds  of  music  and  the  dance.  Shortly  after,  they  came 
to  the  square  where  the  mock  tournament  had  been  held.  It 
was  thronged  by  the  populace,  recreating  themselves  among 
booths  and  stalls  where  refreshments  were  sold,  and  the  glare 
of  torches  showed  the  temporary  galleries,  and  gay-coloured 
awnings,  and  armorial  trophies,  and  other  prraphernalia  of 
the  show.  The  conductors  of  Inez  endeavoured  to  keep  out  of 
observation,  and  to  traverse  a  gloomy  part  of  the  square ;  but 
they  were  detained  at  one  place  by  the  pressure  of  a  crowd  sur- 
rounding a  party  of  wandering  musicians,  singing  one  of  those 
ballads  of  which  the  Spanish  populace  are  so  passionately  fond. 
The  torches  which  were  held  by  some  of  the  crowd,  threw  a 
strong  mass  of  light  upon  Inez,  and  the  sight  of  so  beautiful  a 
being,  without  mantilla  or  veil,  looking  so  bewildered,  and 
conducted  by  men  who  seemed  to  take  no  gratification  in  the 
surrounding  gayety,  occasioned  expressions  of  curiosity.  One 
of  the  ballad-singers  approached,  and  striking  her  guitar  with 
peculiar  earnestness,  began  to  sing  a  doleful  air,  full  of  sinister 
forebodings.  Inez  started  with  surprise.  It  was  the  same  bal- 
lad-singer that  had  addressed  her  in  the  garden  of  the  Gene- 
raliffe.  It  was  the  same  air  that  she  had  then  sung.  It  spoke 
of  impending  dangers;  they  seemed,  indeed,  to  be  thickening 
around  her.  She  was  anxious  to  speak  with  the  girl,  and  to 
ascertain  whether  she  really  had  a  knowledge  of  any  definite 
evil  that  was  threatening  her ;  but,  as  she  attempted  to  address 
her,  the  mule,  on  which  she  rode,  was  suddenly  seized,  and  led 
forcibly  through  the  throng  by  one  of  her  conductors,  while 
she  saw  another  addressing  menacing  words  to  the  ballad- 
singer.  The  latter  raised  her  hand  with  a  warning  gesture,  as 
Inez  lost  sight  of  her. 

While  she  was  yet  lost  in  perplexity,  caused  by  this  singular 
occurrence,  they  stopped  at  the  gate  of  a  large  mansion.  One 
of  her  attendants  knocked,  the  door  was  opened,  and  they  en- 


136  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

tered  a  paved  court.  "Where  are  we?"  demanded  Inez,  with 
anxiety.  "At  the  house  of  a  friend,  senora,"  replied  the  man. 
"Ascend  this  staircase  with  me,  and  in  a  moment  you  will 
meet  your  father." 

They  ascended  a  staircase,  that  led  to  a  suite  of  splendid 
apartments.  They  passed  through  several,  until  they  came  to 
an  inner  chamber.  The  door  opened — some  one  approached ; 
but  what  was  her  terror  at  perceiving,  not  her  father,  but  Don 
Ambrosio  1 

The  men  who  had  seized  upon  the  alchymist  had,  at  least, 
been  more  honest  in  their  professions.  They  were,  indeed, 
familiars  of  the  inquisition.  He  was  conducted  in  silence  to 
the  gloomy  prison  of  that  horrible  tribunal.  It  was  a  mansion 
whose  very  aspect  withered  joy,  and  almost  shut  out  hope.  It 
was  one  of  those  hideous  abodes  which  the  bad  passions  of  men 
conjure  up  in  this  fair  world,  to  rival  the  fancied  dens  of 
demons  and  the  accursed. 

Day  after  day  went  heavily  by,  without  anything  to  mark 
the  lapse  of  time,  but  the  decline  and  reappearance  of  the  light 
that  feebly  glimmered  through  the  narrow  window  of  the  dun- 
geon in  which  the  unfortunate  alchymist  was  buried  rather 
than  confined.  His  mind  was  harassed  with  uncertainties  and 
fears  about  his  daughter,  so  helpless  and  inexperienced.  He 
endeavoured  to  gather  tidings  of  her  from  the  man  who  brought 
his  daily  portion  of  food.  The  fellow  stared,  as  if  astonished 
at  being  asked  a  question  in  that  mansion  of  silence  and  mys- 
tery, but  departed  without  saying  a  word.  Every  succeeding 
attempt  was  equally  fruitless. 

The  poor  alchymist  was  oppressed  by  many  griefs ;  and  it 
was  not  the  least,  that  he  had  been  again  interrupted  in  his 
labours  on  the  very  point  of  success.  Never  was  alchymist  so 
near  attaining  the  golden  secret — a  little  longer,  and  all  his 
hopes  would  have  been  realized.  The  thoughts  of  these  disap- 
pointments afflicted  him  more  even  than  the  fear  of  all  that  he 
might  suffer  from  the  merciless  inquisition.  His  waking 
thoughts  would  follow  him  into  his  dreams.  He  would  be 
transported  in  fancy  to  his  laboratory,  busied  again  among  re- 
torts and  alembics,  and  surrounded  by  Lully,  by  D'Abano,  by 
Olybius,  and  the  other  masters  of  the  sublime  art.  Tne  mo- 
ment of  projection  would  arrive ;  a  seraphic  form  would  rise 
out  of  the  furnace,  holding  forth  a  vessel  containing  the  pre- 
cious elixir;  but,  before  he  could  grasp  the  prize,  he  would 
awake,  and  find  himself  in  a  dungeon. 


TEE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  137 

All  the  devices  of  inquisitorial  ingenuity  were  employed  to 
ensnare  the  old  man,  and  to  draw  from  him  evidence  that 
might  be  brought  against  himself,  and  might  corroborate  cer- 
tain secret  information  that  had  been  given  against  him.  He 
had  been  accused  of  practising  necromancy  and  judicial  astrol- 
ogy, and  a  cloud  of  evidence  had  been  secretly  brought  forward 
to  substantiate  the  charge.  It  would  be  tedious  to  enumerate 
all  the  circumstances,  apparently  corroborative,  which  had 
been  industriously  cited  by  the  secret  accuser.  The  silence 
which  prevailed  about  the  tower,  its  desolateness,  the  very  quiet 
of  its  inhabitants,  had  been  adduced  as  proofs  that  something 
sinister  was  perpetrated  within.  The  alchymist's  conversa- 
tions and  soliloquies  in  the  garden  had  been  overheard  and  mis- 
represented. The  lights  and  strange  appearances  at  night,  in 
the  tower,  were  given  with  violent  exaggerations.  Shrieks 
and  yells  were  said  to  have  been  heard  from  thence  at  mid- 
night, when,  it  was  confidently  asserted,  the  old  man  raised 
familiar  spirits  by  his  incantations,  and  even  compelled  the 
dead  to  rise  from  their  graves,  and  answer  to  his  questions. 

The  alchymist,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  inquisition, 
was  kept  in  complete  ignorance  of  his  accuser ;  of  the  witnesses 
produced  against  him ;  even  of  the  crimes  of  which  he  was  ac- 
cused. He  was  examined  generally,  whether  he  knew  why  he 
was  arrested,  and  was  conscious  of  any  guilt  that  might  de- 
serve the  notice  of  the  holy  office?  He  was  examined  as  to  his 
country,  his  life,  his  habits,  his  pursuits,  his  actions,  and  opin- 
ions. The  old  man  was  frank  and  simple  in  his  replies ;  he  was 
conscious  of  no  guilt,  capable  of  no  art,  practised  in  no  dis- 
simulation. After  receiving  a  general  admonition  to  bethink 
himself  whether  he  had  not  committed  any  act  deserving  of 
punishment,  and  to  prepare,  by  confession,  to  secure  the  well- 
known  mercy  of  the  tribunal,  he  was  remanded  to  his  cell. 

He  was  now  visited  in  his  dungeon  by  crafty  familiars  of  the 
inquisition;  who,  under  pretence  of  sympathy  and  kindness, 
came  to  beguile  the  tediousness  of  his  imprisonment  with 
friendly  conversation.  They  casually  introduced  the  subject 
of  alchymy,  on  which  they  touched  with  great  caution  and 
pretended  indifference.  There  was  no  need  of  such  craftiness. 
The  honest  enthusiast  had  no  suspicion  in  his  nature :  the  mo- 
ment they  touched  upon  his  favourite  theme,  he  forgot  his  mis- 
fortunes and  imprisonment,  and  broke  forth  into  rhapsodies 
about  the  divine  science. 

The  conversation  was  artfully  turned  to  the  discussion  of 


138  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

elementary  beings.  The  alchymist  readily  avowed  his  belief 
in  them;  and  that  there  had  been  instances  of  their  attending 
upon  philosophers,  and  administering  to  their  wishes.  He 
related  many  miracles  said  to  have  been  performed  by  Apol- 
lonius  Thyaneus,  through  the  aid  of  spirits  or  demons;  inso- 
much that  he  was  set  up  by  the  heathens  in  opposition  to  the 
Messiah;  and  was  even  regarded  with  reverence  by  many 
Christians.  The  familiars  eagerly  demanded  whether  he  be- 
lieved Apollonius  to  be  a  true  and  worthy  philosopher.  The 
unaffected  piety  of  the  alchymist  protected  him  even  in  the 
midst  of  his  simplicity;  for  he  condemned  Apollonius  as  a 
sorcerer  and  an  impostor.  No  art  could  draw  from  him  an 
admission  that  he  had  ever  employed  or  invoked  spiritual 
agencies  in  the  prosecution  of  his  pursuits,  though  he  believed 
himself  to  have  been  frequently  impeded  by  their  invisible 
interference. 

The  inquisitors  were  sorely  vexed  at  not  being  able  to  inveigle 
him  into  a  confession  of  a  criminal  nature ;  they  attributed  their 
failure  to  craft,  to  obstinacy,  to  every  cause  but  the  right  one, 
namely,  that  the  harmless  visionary  had  nothing  guilty  to  con 
fess.  They  had  abundant  proof  of  a  secret  nature  against  him ; 
but  it  was  the  practice  of  the  inquisition  to  endeavour  to  procure 
confession  from  the  prisoners.  An  auto  da  f 6  was  at  hand ; 
the  worthy  fathers  were  eager  for  his  conviction,  for  they  were 
always  anxious  to  have  a  good  number  of  culprits  condemned 
to  the  stake,  to  grace  these  solemn  triumphs.  He  was  at 
length  brought  to  a  final  examination. 

The  chamber  of  trial  was  spacious  and  gloomy.  At  one  end 
was  a  huge  crucifix,  the  standard  of  the  inquisition.  A  long 
table  extended  through  the  centre  of  the  room,  at  which  sat 
the  inquisitors  and  their  secretary ;  at  the  other  end,  a  stool 
was  placed  for  the  prisoner. 

He  was  brought  in,  according  to  custom,  bare-headed  and 
bare-legged.  He  was  enfeebled  by  confinement  and  affliction; 
by  constantly  brooding  over  the  unknown  fate  of  his  child, 
and  the  disastrous  interruption  of  his  experiments.  He  sat 
bowed  down  and  listless;  his  head  sunk  upon  his  breast;  his 
whole  appearance  that  of  one  "past  hope,  abandoned,  and  by 
himself  given  over." 

The  accusation  alleged  against  him  was  now  brought  forward 
in  a  specific  form;  he  was  called  upon  by  name,  Felix  de 
Vasquez,  formerly  of  Castile,  to  answer  to  the  charges  of 
necromancy  and  demonology.  He  was  told  »uat  the 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  139 

were  amply  substantiated;  and  was  asked  whether  he  was 
ready,  by  full  confession,  to  throw  himself  upon  the  well- 
known  mercy  of  the  holy  inquisition. 

The  philosopher  testified  some  slight  surprise  at  the  nature 
of  the  accusation,  but  simply  replied,  "I  am  innocent." 

"What  proof  have  you  to  give  of  your  innocence?" 

"It  rather  remains  for  you  to  prove  your  charges,"  said  the 
old  man.  "  I  am  a  stranger  and  a  sojourner  in  the  land,  and 
know  no  one  out  of  the  doors  of  my  dwelling.  I  can  give 
nothing  in  my  vindication  but  the  word  of  a  nobleman  and  a 
Castilian. " 

The  inquisitor  shook  his  head,  and  went  on  to  repeat  the 
various  inquiries  that  had  before  been  made  as  to  his  mode  of 
life  and  pursuits.  The  poor  alchymist  was  too  feeble  and  too 
weary  at  heart  to  make  any  but  brief  replies.  He  requested 
that  some  man  of  science  might  examine  his  laboratory,  and  all 
his  books  and  papers,  by  which  it  would  be  made  abundantly 
evident  that  he  was  merely  engaged  in  the  study  of  alchymy. 

To  this  the  inquisitor  observed,  that  alchymy  had  become  a 
mere  covert  for  secret  and  deadly  sins.  That  the  practisers  of 
it  were  apt  to  scruple  at  no  means  to  satisfy  their  inordinate 
greediness  of  gold.  Some  had  been  known  to  use  spells  and 
impious  ceremonies;  to  conjure  the  aid  of  evil  spirits;  nay, 
even  to  sell  their  souls  to  the  enemy  of  mankind,  so  that  they 
might  riot  in  boundless  wealth  while  living. 

The  poor  alchymist  had  heard  all  patiently,  or,  at  least,  pas- 
sively. He  had  disdained  to  vindicate  his  name  otherwise 
than  by  his  word ;  he  had  smiled  at  the  accusations  of  sorcery, 
when  applied  merely  to  himself;  but  when  the  sublime  art, 
which  had  been  the  study  and  passion  of  his  life,  was  assailed, 
he  could  no  longer  listen  in  silence.  His  head  gradually  rose 
from  his  bosom ;  a  hectic  colour  came  in  faint  streaks  to  his 
cheek;  played  about  there,  disappeared,  returned,  and  at 
length  kindled  into  a  burning  glow.  The  clammy  dampness 
dried  from  his  forehead;  his  eyes,  which  had  nearly  been 
extinguished,  lighted  up  again,  and  burned  with  their  wonted 
and  visionary  fires.  He  entered  into  a  vindication  of  his  fa- 
vourite art.  His  voice  at  first  was  feeble  and  broken ;  but  it 
gathered  strength  as  he  proceeded,  until  it  rolled  in  a  deep  and 
sonorous  volume.  He  gradually  rose  from  his  seat,  as  he  rose 
with  his  subject;  he  threw  back  the  scanty  black  mantle 
which  had  hitherto  wrapped  his  limbs ;  the  very  uncouthness 
of  his  form  and  looks  gave  an  impressive  effect  to  what  ho 


140  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

uttered;  it  was  as  though  a  corpse  had  become  suddenly  ani- 
mated. 

He  repelled  with  scorn  tLe  aspersions  cast  upon  alchymy  by 
the  ignorant  and  vulgar.  He  affirmed  it  to  be  the  mother  of 
all  art  and  science,  citing  the  opinions  of  Paracelsus,  Sandi- 
vogius,  Raymond  Lully,  and  others,  in  support  of  his  :i 
tions.  He  maintained  that  it  was  pure  and  innocent  and 
honourable  both  in  its  purposes  and  means.  What  were  its 
objects?  The  perpetuation  of  life  and  youth,  and  the  produc- 
tion of  gold.  "The  elixir  vitse,"  said  he,  "is  no  charmed 
potion,  but  merely  a  concentration  of  those  elements  of  vitality 
which  nature  has  scattered  through  her  works.  The  philoso- 
pher's stone,  or  tincture,  or  powder,  as  it  is  variously  called,  is 
no  necromantic  talisman,  but  consists  simply  of  those  particles 
which  gold  contains  within  itself  for  its  reproduction ;  for  gold, 
like  other  things,  has  its  seed  within  itself,  though  bound  up 
with  inconceivable  firmness,  from  the  vigour  of  innate  fixed 
salts  and  sulphurs.  In  seeking  to  discover  the  elixir  of  life, 
then,"  continued  he,  '*  we  seek  only  to  apply  some  of  nature's 
own  specifics  against  the  disease  and  decay  to  which  our  bodies 
are  subjected ;  and  what  else  does  the  physician,  when  he  tasks 
his  art.  and  uses  subtle  compounds  and  cunning  distillations, 
to  revive  our  languishing  powers,  and  avert  the  stroke  of  death 
for  a  season? 

"  In  seeking  to  multiply  the  precious  metals,  also,  we  seek  but 
to  germinate  and  multiply,  by  natural  means,  a  particular 
species  of  nature's  productions ;  and  what  else  does  the  hus- 
bandman, who  consults  times  and  seasons,  and,  by  what  might 
be  deemed  a  natural  magic,  from  the  mere  scattering  of  his 
hand,  covers  a  whole  plain  with  golden  vegetation?  The  mys- 
teries of  our  art,  it  is  true,  are  deeply  and  darkly  hidden ;  but 
it  requires  so  much  the  more  innocence  and  purity  of  thought, 
to  penetrate  unto  them.  No,  father !  the  true  alchymist  must 
be  pure  in  mind  and  body;  he  must  be  temperate,  patient, 
chaste,  watchful,  meek,  humble,  devout.  'My  son,'  says 
Hermes  Trismegestes,  the  great  master  of  our  art,  '  my  son,  I 
recommend  you  above  all  things  to  fear  God.'  And  indeed  it  is 
only  by  devout  castigation  of  the  senses,  and  purification  of  the 
soul  that  the  alchymist  is  enabled  to  enter  into  the  sacred 
chambers  of  truth.  'Labour,  pray,  and  read,'  is  the  motto  of 
our  science.  As  De  Nuysinent  well  observes,  '  These  hiph  and 
singular  favours  are  granted  unto  none,  save  only  unto  the 
sons  of  God,  (that  is  to  say,  the  virtuous  and  devout,)  who, 


THE  STUDENT  OP  SALAMANCA.  141 

under  his  paternal  benediction,  have  obtained  the  opening 
of  the  same,  by  the  helping  hand  of  the  queen  of  arts,  divine 
Philosophy.'  Indeed,  so  sacred  has  the  nature  of  this  know- 
ledge been  considered,  that  we  are  told  it  has  four  times  been 
expressly  communicated  by  God  to  man,  having  made  a  part  of 
that  cabalistical  wisdom  which  was  revealed  to  Adam  to  con- 
sole him  for  the  loss  of  Paradise ;  and  to  Moses  in  the  bush,  and 
to  Solomon  in  a  dream,  and  to  Esdras  by  the  angel. 

' '  So  far  from  demons  and  malign  spirits  being  the  friends  and 
abettors  of  the  alchymist,  they  are  the  continual  foes  with 
which  he  has  to  contend.  It  is  their  constant  endeavour  to  shut 
up  the  avenues  to  those  truths  which  would  enable  him  to  rise 
above  the  abject  state  into  which  he  has  fallen,  and  return  to  that 
excellence  which  was  his  original  birthright.  For  what  would 
be  the  effect  of  this  length  of  days,  and  this  abundant  wealth, 
but  to  enable  the  possessor  to  go  on  from  art  to  art,  from  science 
to  science,  with  energies  unimpaired  by  sickness,  uninterrupted 
by  death  ?  For  this  have  sages  and  philosophers  shut  themselves 
up  in  cells  and  solitudes ;  buried  themselves  in  caves  and  dens 
of  the  earth ;  turning  from  the  joys  of  life,  and  the  pleasance  of 
the  world ;  enduring  scorn,  poverty,  persecution.  For  this  was 
Pvaymond  Lully  stoned  to  death  in  Mauritania.  For  this  did 
the  immortal  Pietro  D'Abano  suffer  persecution  at  Padua, 
and,  when  he  escaped  from  his  oppressors  by  death,  was  de- 
spitefully  burnt  in  effigy.  For  this  have  illustrious  men  of  all 
nations  intrepidly  suffered  martyrdom.  For  this,  if  unmolest- 
ed, have  they  assiduously  employed  the  latest  hour  of  life, 
the  expiring  throb  of  existence ;  hoping  to  the  last  that  they 
might  yet  seize  upon  the  prize  for  which  they  had  struggled, 
and  pluck  themselves  back  even  from  the  very  jaws  of  the 
grave ! 

"  For,  when  once  the  alchymist  shall  have  attained  the  ob- 
ject of  his  toils ;  when  the  sublime  secret  shall  be  revealed  to 
his  gaze,  how  glorious  will  be  the  change  in  his  condition! 
How  will  he  emerge  from  his  solitary  retreat,  like  the  sun 
breaking  forth  from  the  darksome  chamber  of  the  night,  and 
darting  his  beams  throughout  the  earth !  Gifted  with  perpetual 
youth  and  boundless  riches,  to  what  heights  of  wisdom  may  he 
attain!  How  may  he  carry  on,  uninterrupted,  the  thread  of 
knowledge,  which  has  hitherto  been  snapped  at  the  death  of 
each  philosopher!  And,  as  the  increase  of  wisdom  is  the  in- 
crease of  virtue,  how  may  he  become  the  benefactor  of  his 
fellow-men ;  dispensing,  with  liberal  but  cautious  and  discrimi- 


142  BRACEBRIDGB  HALL. 

nating  hand,  that  inexhaustible  wealth  which  is  at  his  disposal ; 
banishing  poverty,  which  is  the  cause  of  so  much  sorrow  and 
wickedness;  encouraging  the  arts;  promoting  discoveries,  and 
enlarging  all  the  means  of  virtuous  enjoyment !  His  life  will 
be  the  connecting  band  of  generations.  History  will  live  in  his 
recollection;  distant  ages  will  speak  with  his  tongue.  The 
nations  of  the  earth  will  look  to  him  as  their  preceptor,  and 
kings  will  sit  at  his  feet  and  learn  wisdom.  Oh  glorious !  oh 
celestial  alchymy  1" — 

Here  he  was  interrupted  by  the  inquisitor,  who  had  suffered 
him  to  go  on  thus  far,  in  hopes  of  gathering  something  from  his 
unguarded  enthusiasm.  "  Senor,"  said  he,  this  is  all  rambling, 
visionary  talk.  You  are  charged  with  sorcery,  and  in  defence 
you  give  us  a  rhapsody  about  alchymy.  Have  you  nothing 
better  than  this  to  offer  in  your  defence?" 

The  old  man  slowly  resumed  his  seat,  but  did  not  deign  a 
reply.  The  fire  that  had  beamed  in  his  eye  gradually  expired. 
TTis  cheek  resumed  its  wonted  paleness ;  but  he  did  not  relapse 
into  inanity.  He  sat  with  a  steady,  serene,  patient  look,  like 
one  prepared  not  to  contend,  but  to  suffer. 

His  trial  continued  for  a  long  time,  with  cruel  mockery  of 
justice,  for  no  witnesses  were  ever  in  this  court  confronted  with 
the  accused,  and  the  latter  had  continually  to  defend  himself  in 
the  dark.  Some  unknown  and  powerful  enemy  had  alleged 
charges  against  the  unfortunate  alchymist,  but  who  he  could 
not  imagine.  Stranger  and  sojourner  as  he  was  in  the  land, 
solitary  and  harmless  in  his  pursuits,  how  could  he  have  pro- 
voked such  hostility?  The  tide  of  secret  testimony,  however, 
was  too  strong  against  him ;  he  was  convicted  of  the  crime  of 
magic,  and  condemned  to  expiate  his  sins  at  the  stake,  at  the 
approaching  auto  da  fe. 

While  the  unhappy  alchymist  was  undergoing  his  trial  at 
the  inquisition,  his  daughter  was  exposed  to  trials  no  less 
severe.  Don  Ambrosio,  into  whose  hands  she  had  fallen,  was, 
as  has  before  been  intimated,  one  of  the  most  daring  and  lawless 
profligates  in  all  Granada.  He  was  a  man  of  hot  blood  and 
fiery  passions,  who  stopped  at  nothing  in  the  gratification  of 
his  desires;  yet  with  all  this  he  possessed  manners,  address, 
and  accomplishments,  that  had  made  him  eminently  successful 
among  the  sex.  From  the  palace  to  the  cottage  he  had  extend- 
ed his  amorous  enterprises;  his  serenades  harassed  the  slum- 
bers of  half  the  husbands  in  Granada ;  no  balcony  was  too  hiprh 
for  his  adventurous  attempts,  nor  any  cottage  too  lowly  for  his 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  143 

perfidious  seductions.  Yet  he  was  as  fickle  as  he  was  ardent ; 
success  had  made  him  vain  and  capricious ;  he  had  no  sentiment 
to  attach  him  to  the  victim  of  his  arts ;  and  many  a  pale  cheek 
and  fading  eye,  languishing  amidst  the  sparkling  of  jewels,  and 
many  a  breaking  heart,  throbbing  under  the  rustic  bodice, 
bore  testimony  to  his  triumphs  and  his  faithlessness. 

He  was  sated,  however,  by  easy  conquests,  and  wearied  of  a 
life  of  continual  and  prompt  gratification.  There  had  been  a 
degree  of  difficulty  and  enterprise  in  the  pursuit  of  Inez  that  he 
had  never  before  experienced.  It  had  aroused  him  from  the 
monotony  of  mere  sensual  life,  and  stimulated  him  with  the 
charm  of  adventure.  He  had  become  an  epicure  in  pleasure ; 
and  now  that  he  had  this  coy  beauty  in  his  power,  he  was  de- 
termined to  protract  his  enjoyment,  by  the  gradual  conquest  of 
her  scruples  and  downfall  of  her  virtue.  He  was  vain  of  his 
person  and  address,  which  he  thought  no  woman  could  long 
withstand ;  and  it  was  a  kind  of  trial  of  skill  to  endeavour  to 
gain,  by  art  and  fascination,  what  he  was  secure  of  obtaining 
at  any  time  by  violence. 

When  Inez,  therefore,  was  brought  into  his  presence  by  his 
emissaries,  he  affected  not  to  notice  her  terror  and  surprise,  but 
received  her  with  formal  and  stately  courtesy.  He  was  too 
wary  a  fowler  to  flutter  the  bird  when  just  entangled  in  the 
net.  To  her  eager  and  wild  inquiries  about  her  father,  he 
begged  her  not  to  be  alarmed ;  that  he  was  safe,  and  had  been 
there,  but  was  engaged  elsewhere  in  an  affair  of  moment, 
from  which  he  would  soon  return ;  in  the  meantime,  he  had 
left  word  that  she  should  await  his  return  in  patience.  After 
some  stately  expressions  of  general  civility,  Don  Ambrosio 
made  a  ceremonious  bow  and  retired. 

The  mind  of  Inez  was  full  of  trouble  and  perplexity.  The 
stately  formality  of  Don  Ambrosio  was  so  unexpected  as  to 
check  the  accusations  and  reproaches  that  were  springing  to  her 
lips.  Had  he  had  evil  designs,  would  he  have  treated  her  with 
such  frigid  ceremony  when  he  had  her  in  his  power?  But  why, 
then,  was  she  brought  to  his  house  ?  Was  not  the  mysterious 
disappearance  of  Antonio  connected  with  this?  A  thought 
suddenly  darted  into  her  mind.  Antonio  had  again  met  with 
Don  Ambrosio— they  had  fought — Antonio  was  wounded — per- 
haps dying !  It  was  him  to  whom  her  father  had  gone — it  was 
at  Ms  request  that  Don  Ambrosio  had  sent  for  them,  to  soothe 
his  dying  moments!  These,  and  a  thousand  such  horrible  sug- 
gestions, harassed  her  mind ;  but  she  tried  in  vain  to  get  in? 


144  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

formation  from  the  domestics ;  they  knew  nothing  but  that  he* 
father  had  been  there,  had  gone,  aud  would  soon  return. 

Thus  passed  a  night  of  tumultuous  thought,  and  vague  yet 
cruel  apprehensions.  She  knew  not  what  to  do  or  what  to 
believe — whether  she  ought  to  fly,  or  to  remain ;  but  if  to  fly, 
how  was  she  to  extricate  herself? — and  where  was  she  to  seek 
her  father?  As  the  day  dawned  without  any  intelligence  of 
him,  her  alarm  increased;  at  length  a  message  was  brought 
from  him,  saying  that  circumstances  prevented  his  return  to 
her,  but  begging  her  to  hasten  to  him  without  delay. 

With  an  eager  and  throbbing  heart  did  she  set  forth  with  the 
men  that  were  to  conduct  her.  She  little  thought,  however, 
that  she  was  merely  changing  her  prison-house.  Don  Ambro- 
sio  had  feared  lest  she  should  be  traced  to  his  residence  in 
Granada ;  or  that  he  might  be  interrupted  there  before  he  could 
accomplish  his  plan  of  seduction.  He  had  her  now  conveyed, 
therefore,  to  a  mansion  which  he  possessed  in  one  of  the  moun- 
tain solitudes  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Granada;  a  lonely,  but 
beautiful  retreat.  In  vain,  on  her  arrival,  did  she  look  around 
for  her  father  or  Antonio ;  none  but  strange  faces  met  her  eye ; 
menials,  profoundly  respectful,  but  who  knew  nor  saw  anything 
but  what  their  master  pleased. 

She  had  scarcely  arrived  before  Don  Ambrosio  made  his  ap- 
pearance, less  stately  in  his  manner,  but  still  treating  her  with 
the  utmost  delicacy  and  deference.  Inez  was  too  much  agitated 
and  alarmed  to  be  baffled  by  his  courtesy,  and  became  vehe- 
ment in  her  demand  to  be  conducted  to  her  father. 

Don  Ambrosio  now  put  on  an  appearance  of  the  greatest  em- 
barrassment and  emotion.  After  some  delay,  and  much  pre- 
tended confusion,  he  at  length  confessed  that  the  seizure  of  her 
father  was  all  a  stratagem ;  a  mere  false  alarm,  to  procure  him 
the  present  opportunity  of  having  access  to  her,  and  endeavour- 
ing to  mitigate  that  obduracy,  and  conquer  that  repugnance, 
which  he  declared  had  almost  driven  him  to  distraction. 

He  assured  her  that  her  father  was  again  at  home  in  safety, 
and  occupied  in  his  usual  pursuits ;  having  been  fully  satisfied 
that  his  daughter  was  in  honourable  hands,  and  would  soon  be 
restored  to  him.  It  was  in  vain  that  she  threw  herself  at  his 
feet,  and  implored  to  be  set  at  liberty;  he  only  replied  by  gentle 
entreaties,  that  she  would  pardon  the  seeming  violence  he  had  to 
use ;  and  that  she  would  trust  a  little  while  to  his  honour.  ' '  You 
are  here,"  said  he,  "absolute  mistress  of  every  thing:  nothing 
shall  be  said  or  done  to  offend  you :  I  will  not  even  intrude 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  145 

upon  your  ear  the  unhappy  passion  that  is  devouring  my  heart. 
Should  you  require  it,  I  will  even  absent  myself  from  your 
presence ;  but,  to  part  with  you  entirely  at  present,  with  your 
mind  full  of  doubts  and  resentments,  would  be  worse  than 
death  to  me.  No,  beautiful  Inez,  you  must  first  know  me  a 
little  better,  and  know  by  my  conduct  that  my  passion  for  you 
is  as  delicate  and  respectful  as  it  is  vehement." 

The  assurance  of  her  father's  safety  had  relieved  Inez  from 
one  cause  of  torturing  anxiety,  only  to  render  her  fears  the 
more  violent  on  her  own  account.  Don  Ambrosio,  however, 
continued  to  treat  her  with  artful  deference,  that  insensibly 
lulled  her  apprehensions.  It  is  true  she  found  herself  a  captive, 
but  no  advantage  appeared  to  be  taken  of  her  helplessness.  She 
soothed  herself  with  the  idea  that  a  little  while  would  suffice  to 
convince  Don  Ambrosio  of  the  fallacy  of  his  hopes,  and  that 
he  would  be  induced  to  restore  her  to  her  home.  Her  tran- 
sports of  terror  and  affliction,  therefore,  subsided,  in  a  few 
days,  into  a  passive,  yet  anxious  melancholy,  with  which  she 
awaited  the  hoped-for  event. 

In  the  meanwhile,  all  those  artifices  were  employed  that  are 
calculated  to  charm  the  senses,  ensnare  the  feelings,  and  dis- 
solve the  heart  into  tenderness.  Don  Ambrosio  was  a  master 
of  the  subtle  arts  of  seduction.  His  very  mansion  breathed  an 
enervating  atmosphere  of  languor  and  delight.  It  was  here, 
amidst  twilight  saloons  and  dreamy  chambers,  buried  among 
groves  of  orange  and  myrtle,  that  he  shut  himself  up  at  times 
from  the  prying  world,  and  gave  free  scope  to  the  gratification 
of  his  pleasures. 

The  apartments  were  furnished  in  the  most  sumptuous  and 
voluptuous  manner ;  the  silken  couches  swelled  to  the  touch, 
and  sunk  in  downy  softness  beneath  the  slightest  pressure. 
The  paintings  and  statues,  all  told  some  classic  tale  of  love, 
managed,  however,  with  an  insidious  delicacy ;  which,  while  it 
banished  the  grossness  that  might  disgust,  was  the  more  calcu- 
lated to  excite  the  imagination.  There  the  blooming  Adonis 
was  seen,  not  breaking  away  to  pursue  the  boisterous  chase, 
but  crowned  with  flowers,  and  languishing  in  the  embraces  of 
celestial  beauty.  There  Acis  wooed  his  Galatea  in  the  shade, 
with  the  Sicilian  sea  spreading  in  halcyon  serenity  before  them. 
There  were  depicted  groups  of  fauns  and  dryads,  fondly  re- 
clining in  summer  bowers,  and  listening  to  the  liquid  piping 
of  the  reed;  or  the  wanton  satyrs,  surprising  some  wood- 
nymph  during  her  noontide  slumber.  There,  too,  on  th$ 


146  SRACEBRIDGE  BALL. 

storied  tapestry,  might  be  seen  the  chaste  Diana,  stealing,  in 
the  mystery  of  moonlight,  to  kiss  the  sleeping  Endymion; 
while  Cupid  and  Psyche,  entwined  in  immortal  marble, 
breathed  on  each  other's  lips  the  early  kiss  of  love. 

The  ardent  rays  of  the  sun  were  excluded  from  these  balmy 
halls;  soft  and  tender  music  from  unseen  musicians  floated 
around,  seeming  to  mingle  with  the  perfumes  that  were  exhaled 
from  a  thousand  flowers.  At  night,  when  the  moon  shed  a 
fairy  light  over  the  scene,  the  tender  serenade  would  rise  from 
among  the  bowers  of  the  garden,  in  which  the  fine  voice  of 
Don  Ambrosio  might  often  be  distinguished ;  or  the  amorous 
flute  would  be  heard  along  the  mountain,  breathing  in  its 
pensive  cadences  the  very  soul  of  a  lover's  melancholy. 

Various  entertainments  were  also  devised  to  dispel  her  lone- 
liness, and  to  charm  away  the  idea  of  confinement.  Groups  of 
Andalusian  dancers  performed,  in  the  splendid  saloons,  the 
various  picturesque  dances  of  their  country;  or  represented 
little  amorous  ballets,  which  turned  upon  some  pleasing  scene 
of  pastoral  coquetry  and  courtship.  Sometimes  there  were 
bands  of  singers,  who,  to  the  romantic  guitar,  warbled  forth 
ditties  full  of  passion  and  tenderness. 

Thus  all  about  her  enticed  to  pleasure  and  voluptuousnesss ; 
but  the  heart  of  Inez  turned  with  distaste  from  this  idle 
mockery.  The  tears  would  rush  into  her  eyes,  as  her  thoughts 
reverted  from  this  scene  of  profligate  splendour,  to  the  humble 
but  virtuous  home  from  whence  she  had  been  betrayed ;  or  if 
the  witching  power  of  music  ever  soothed  her  into  a  tender 
reverie,  it  was  to  dwell  with  fondness  on  the  image  of  Antonio. 
But  if  Don  Ambrosio,  deceived  by  this  transient  calm,  should 
attempt  at  such  time  to  whisper  his  passion,  she  would  start  as 
from  a  dream,  and  recoil  from  him  with  involuntary  shudder- 
ing. 

She  had  passed  one  long  day  of  more  than  ordinary  sadness, 
and  in  the  evening  a  band  of  these  hired  performers  were 
exerting  all  the  animating  powers  of  song  and  dance  to  amuse 
her.  But  while  the  lofty  saloon  resounded  with  their  war- 
bungs,  and  the  light  sound  of  feet  upon  its  marble  pavement 
kept  time  to  the  cadence  of  the  song,  poor  Inez,  with  her  face 
buried  in  the  silken  couch  on  which  she  reclined,  was  only  ren- 
dered more  wretched  by  the  sound  of  gayety. 

At  length  her  attention  was  caught  by  the  voice  of  one  of  the 
singers,  that  brought  with  it  some  indefinite  recollections. 
She  raised  her  head,  and  cast  an  anxious  look  at  the  perform- 


TEE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  147 

ers,  who,  as  usual,  were  at  the  lower  end  of  the  saloon.  One 
of  them  advanced  a  little  before  the  others.  It  was  a  female, 
dressed  in  a  fanciful,  pastoral  garb,  suited  to  the  character  she 
was  sustaining ;  but  her  countenance  was  not  to  be  mistaken. 
It  was  the  same  ballad-singer  that  had  twice  crossed  her  path, 
and  given  her  mysterious  intimations  of  the  lurking  mischief 
that  surrounded  her.  When  the  rest  of  the  performances 
were  concluded,  she  seized  a  tambourine,  and,  tossing  it  aloft, 
danced  alone  to  the  melody  of  her  own  voice.  In  the  course 
of  her  dancing,  she  approached  to  where  Inez  reclined :  and  as 
she  struck  the  tambourine,  contrived  dexterously  to  throw  a 
folded  paper  on  the  couch.  Inez  seized  it  with  avidity,  and 
concealed  it  in  her  bosom.  The  singing  and  dancing  were  at 
an  end ;  the  motley  crew  retired ;  and  Inez,  left  alone,  hastened 
with  anxiety  to  unfold  the  paper  thus  mysteriously  conveyed. 
It  was  written  in  an  agitated,  and  almost  illegible  handwriting: 
"Be  on  your  guard!  you  are  surrounded  by  treachery. 
Trust  not  to  the  forbearance  of  Don  Ambrosio;  you  are 
marked  out  for  his  prey.  An  humble  victim  to  his  perfidy 
gives  you  this  warning;  she  is  encompassed  by  too  many  dan- 
gers to  be  more  explicit. — Your  father  is  in  the  dungeons  of 
the  inquisition !" 

The  brain  of  Inez  reeled,  as  she  read  this  dreadful  scroll. 
She  was  less  filled  with  alarm  at  her  own  danger,  than  horror 
at  her  father's  situation.  The  moment  Don  Ambrosio  appeared, 
she  rushed  and  threw  herself  at  his  feet,  imploring  him  to 
save  her  father.  Don  Ambrosio  stared  with  astonishment ;  but 
immediately  regaining  his  self-possession,  endeavoured  to 
soothe  her  by  his  blandishments,  and  by  assurances  that  her 
father  was  in  safety.  She  was  not  to  be  pacified;  her  fears 
were  too  much  aroused  to  be  trifled  with.  She  declared  her 
knowledge  of  her  father's  being  a  prisoner  of  the  inquisition, 
and  reiterated  her  frantic  supplications  that  he  would  save 
him, 

Don  Ambrosio  paused  for  a  moment  in  perplexity,  but  was 
too  adroit  to  be  easily  confounded.  "That  your  father  is  a 
prisoner,"  replied  he,  "I  have  long  known.  I  have  concealed 
it  from  you,  to  save  you  from  fruitless  anxiety.  You  now 
know  the  real  reason  of  the  restraint  I  have  put  upon  your 
liberty:  I  have  been  protecting  instead  of  detaining  you. 
Every  exertion  has  been  made  in  your  father's  favour ;  but  I 
regret  to  say,  the  proofs  of  the  offences  of  which  he  stands 
charged  have  been  too  strong  to  be  controverted.  Still, "  added 


148  &RACSB&WO&  HALL 

he,  "I  have  it  in  my  power  to  save  him;  I  have  influence,  I 
have  means  at  my  beck ;  it  may  involve  me,  it  is  true,  in  diffi- 
culties, perhaps  in  disgrace ;  but  what  would  I  not  do,  in  the 
hope  of  being  rewarded  by  your  favour?  Speak,  beautiful 
Inez,"  said  he,  his  eyes  kindling  with  sudden  eagerness;  "  it  is 
with  you  to  say  the  word  that  seals  your  father's  fate.  One 
kind  word — say  but  you  will  be  mine,  and  you  will  behold  me 
at  your  feet,  your  father  at  liberty  and  in  affluence,  and  we 
shall  all  be  happy  1" 

Inez  drew  back  from  him  with  scorn  and  disbelief.  "My 
father,"  exclaimed  she,  "is  too  innocent  and  blameless  to  be 
convicted  of  crime;  this  is  some  base,  some  cruel  artifice!" 
Don  Ambrosio  repeated  his  asseverations,  and  with  them  also 
his  dishonourable  proposals;  but  his  eagerness  overshot  its 
mark;  her  indignation  and  her  incredulity  wen- alike  awakened 
by  his  base  suggestions;  and  he  retired  from  her  presence. 
checked  and  awed  by  the  sudden  pride  and  dignity  of  her 
demeanour. 

The  unfortunate  Inez  now  became  a  prey  to  the  most  liar- 
rowing  anxieties.  Don  Ambrosio  saw  that  the  mask  had  fallen 
from  his  face,  and  that  the  nature  of  his  machinations  was 
revealed.  He  had  gone  too  far  to  retrace  his  steps,  and  assume 
the  affectation  of  tenderness  and  respect ;  indeed,  he  was  mor- 
tified and  incensed  at  her  insensibility  to  his  attractions,  and 
now  only  sought  to  subdue  her  through  her  fears.  He  daily 
represented  to  her  the  dangers  that  threatened  her  father,  and 
that  it  was  in  his  power  alone  to  avert  them.  Inez  was  still 
incredulous.  She  was  too  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  the  inqui- 
sition, to  know  that  even  innocence  was  not  always  a  protection 
from  its  cruelties ;  and  she  confided  too  surely  in  the  virtue  of 
her  father,  to  believe  that  any  accusation  could  prevail  against 
him. 

At  length  Don  Ambrosio,  to  give  an  effectual  blow  to  her 
confidence,  brought  her  the  proclamation  of  the  approaching 
auto  da  fe",  in  which  the  prisoners  were  enumerated.  She 
glanced  her  eye  over  it,  and  beheld  her  father's  name,  con- 
demned to  the  stake  for  sorcery  1 

For  a  moment  she  stood  transfixed  with  horror.  Don 
Ambrosio  seized  upon  the  transient  calm.  "Think,  now, 
beautiful  Inez, "  said  he,  with  a  tone  of  affected  tenderness, 
"his life  is  still  in  your  hands;  one  word  from  you,  one  kind 
word,  and  I  can  yet  save  him." 

"Monster!   wretch!"    cried   she,    coming  to  herself,    and 


TEE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  149 

recoiling  from  him  with  insuperable  abhorrence:  "'Tis  you 
that  are  the  cause  of  this — 'tis  you  that  are  his  murderer!" 
Then,  wringing  her  hands,  she  broke  forth  into  exclamations  of 
the  most  frantic  agony. 

The  perfidious  Ambrosio  saw  the  torture  of  her  soul,  and 
anticipated  from  it  a  triumph.  He  saw  that  she  was  in  no 
mood,  during  her  present  paroxysm,  to  listen  to  his  words ;  but 
he  trusted  that  the  horrors  of  lonely  rumination  would  break 
down  her  spirit,  and  subdue  her  to  his  will.  In  this,  however, 
he  was  disappointed.  Many  were  the  vicissitudes  of  mind 
of  the  wretched  Inez;  at  one  time,  she  would  embrace  his 
knees,  with  piercing  supplications;  at  another,  she  would 
shrink  with  nervous  horror  at  his  very  approach;  but  any 
intimation  of  his  passion  only  excited  the  same  emotion  of 
loathing  and  detestation. 

At  length  the  fatal  day  drew  nigh.  "To-morrow,"  said 
Don  Ambrosio,  as  he  left  her  one  evening,  "to-morrow  is 
the  auto  da  fe.  To-morrow  you  will  hear  the  sound  of  the  bell 
that  tolls  your  father  to  his  death.  You  will  almost  see  the 
smoke  that  rises  from  the  funeral  pile.  I  leave  you  to  yourself. 
It  is  yet  in  my  power  to  save  him.  Think  whether  you  can 
stand  to-morrow's  horrors  without  shrinking !  Think  whether 
you  can  endure  the  after-reflection,  that  you  were  the  cause  of 
his  death,  and  that  merely  through  a  perversity  in  refusing 
proffered  happiness." 

What  a  night  was  it  to  Inez! — her  heart  already  harassed 
and  almost  broken,  by  repeated  and  protracted  anxieties ;  her 
strength  wasted  and  enfeebled.  On  every  side,  horrors 
awaited  her;  her  father's  death,  her  own  dishonour — there 
seemed  no  escape  from  misery  or  perdition.  "Is  there  no 
relief  from  man— no  pity  in  heaven?"  exclaimed  she.  "  What 
— what  have  we  done,  that  we  should  be  thus  wretched?"  » 

As  the  dawn  approached,  the  fever  of  her  mind  arose  to 
agony ;  a  thousand  times  did  she  try  the  doors  and  windows  of 
her  apartment,  in  the  desperate  hope  of  escaping.  Alas !  with 
all  the  splendour  of  her  prison,  it  was  too  faithfully  secured  for 
her  weak  hands  to  work  deliverance.  Like  a  poor  bird,  that 
beats  its  wings  against  its  gilded  cage,  until  it  sinks  panting  in 
despair,  so  she  threw  herself  on  the  floor  in  hopeless  anguish. 
Her  blood  grew  hot  in  her  veins,  her  tongue  was  parched, 
her  temples  throbbed  with  violence,  she  gasped  rather  than 
breathed ;  it  seemed  as  if  her  brain  was  on  fire.  "  Blessed  Vir- 
gin !"  exclaimed  she,  clasping  her  hands  and  turning  up  her 


150  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

strained  eyes,  "look  down  with  pity,  and  support  me  in  this 
dreadful  hour  I" 

Just  as  the  day  began  to  dawn,  she  heard  a  key  turn  softly 
in  the  door  of  her  apartment.  She  dreaded  lest  it  should  be 
Don  Ambrosio ;  and  the  very  thought  of  him  gave  her  a  sick- 
ening pang.  It  was  a  female  clad  in  a  rustic  dress,  with  her  face 
concealed  by  her  mantilla.  She  stepped  silently  into  the  room, 
looked  cautiously  round,  and  then,  uncovering  her  face,  re- 
vealed the  well-known  features  of  the  ballad-singer.  Inez  ut- 
tered an  exclamation  of  surprise,  almost  of  joy.  The  unknown 
started  back,  pressed  her  finger  on  her  lips  enjoining  silence, 
and  beckoned  her  to  follow.  She  hastily  wrapped  herself  in 
her  veil,  and  obeyed.  They  passed  with  quick,  but  noiseless 
steps  through  an  antechamber,  across  a  spacious  hall,  and  along 
a  corridor;  all  was  silent;  the  household  was  yet  locked  in 
sleep.  They  came  to  a  door,  to  which  the  unknown  applied 
a  key.  Inez's  heart  misgave  her;  she  knew  not  but  some  new 
treachery  was  menacing  her ;  she  laid  her  cold  hand  on  the 
stranger's  arm:  "Whither  are  you  leading  me?"  said  she. 
"To  liberty,"  replied  the  other,  in  a  whisper. 

"  Do  you  know  the  passages  about  this  mansion?" 

"  But  too  welll"  replied  the  girl,  with  a  melancholy  shake  of 
the  head.  There  was  an  expression  of  sad  veracity  in  her 
countenance,  that  was  not  to  be  distrusted.  The  door  opened 
on  a  small  terrace,  which  was  overlooked  by  several  windows 
of  the  mansion. 

"We  must  move  across  this  quickly,"  said  the  girl,  "or  we 
may  be  observed." 

They  glided  over  it,  as  if  scarce  touching  the  ground.  A 
flight  of  steps  led  down  into  the  garden ;  a  wicket  at  the  bot- 
tom was  readily  unbolted :  they  passed  with  breathless  velocity 
along  one  of  the  alleys,  still  in  sight  of  the  mansion,  in  which, 
however,  no  person  appeared  to  be  stirring.  At  length  they 
came  to  a  low  private  door  in  the  wall,  partly  hidden  by  a  fig- 
tree.  It  was  secured  by  rusty  bolts,  that  refused  to  yield  to 
their  feeble  efforts. 

' '  Holy  Virgin !"  exclaimed  the  stranger,  ' '  what  is  to  be  done? 
one  moment  more,  and  we  may  be  discovered." 

She  seized  a  stone  that  lay  near  by :  a  few  blows,  and  the 
bolt  flew  back ;  the  door  grated  harshly  as  they  opened  it,  and 
the  next  moment  they  found  themselves  in  a  narrow  road. 

"  Now,"  said  the  stranger,  "  for  Granada  as  quickly  as  possi 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA. 

ble !  The  nearer  we  approach  it,  the  safer  we  shall  he;  for  the 
road  will  be  more  frequented." 

The  imminent  risk  they  ran  of  being  pursued  and  taken, 
gave  supernatural  strength  to  their  limbs;  they  flew,  rather 
than  ran.  The  day  had  dawned ;  the  crimson  streaks  on  the 
edge  of  the  horizon  gave  tokens  of  the  approaching  sunrise ; 
already  the  light  clouds  that  floated  in  the  western  sky  were 
tinged  with  gold  and  purple ;  though  the  broad  plain  of  the 
Vega,  which  now  began  to  open  upon  their  view,  was  covered 
with  the  dark  haze  of  morning.  As  yet  they  only  passed  a  few 
straggling  peasants  on  the  road,  who  could  have  yielded  them 
no  assistance  in  case  of  their  being  overtaken.  They  continued 
to  hurry  forward,  and  had  gained  a  considerable  distance, 
when  the  strength  of  Inez,  which  had  only  been  sustained  by 
the  fever  of  her  mind,  began  to  yield  to  fatigue :  she  slackened 
her  pace,  and  faltered. 

' '  Alas !"  said  she,  ' '  my  limbs  fail  me !    I  can  go  no  farther !" 

' '  Bear  up,  bear  up, "  replied  her  companion,  cheeringly ;  "  a  lit- 
tle farther,  and  we  shall  be  safe :  look !  yonder  is  Granada,  just 
showing  itself  in  the  valley  below  us.  A  little  farther,  and  we 
shall  come  to  the  main  road,  and  then  we  shall  find  plenty  of 
passengers  to  protect  us." 

Inez,  encouraged,  made  fresh  efforts  to  get  forward,  but  her 
weary  limbs  were  unequal  to  the  eagerness  of  her  mind ;  her 
mouth  and  throat  were  parched  by  agony  and  terror:  she 
gasped  for  breath,  and  leaned  for  support  against  a  rock.  ' '  It 
is  all  in  vain !"  exclaimed  she ;  "  I  feel  as  though  I  should  faint." 

"  Lean  on  me,"  said  the  other ;  "let  us  get  into  the  shelter  of 
yon  thicket,  that  will  conceal  us  from  the  view;  I  hear  the 
sound  of  water,  which  will  refresh  you." 

With  much  difficulty  they  reached  the  thicket,  which  over- 
hung a  small  mountain-stream,  just  where  its  sparkling  waters 
leaped  over  the  rock  and  fell  into  a  natural  basin.  Here  Inez 
sank  upon  the  ground,  exhausted.  Her  companion  brought 
water  in  the  palms  of  her  hands,  and  bathed  her  pallid  temples. 
The  cooling  drops  revived  her ;  she  was  enabled  to  get  to  the 
margin  of  the  stream,  and  drink  of  its  crystal  current ;  then, 
reclining  her  head  on  the  bosom  of  her  deliverer,  she  was  first 
enabled  to  murmur  forth  her  heartfelt  gratitude. 

"Alas!"  said  the  other,  "I  deserve  no  thanks;  I  deserve  not 
the  good  opinion  you  express.  In  me  you  behold  a  victim  of 
Don  Ambrosio's  arts.  In  early  years  he  seduced  me  from  the 
cottage  of  my  parents :  look !  at  the  foot  of  yonder  blue  moun- 


152  BRACEDRIDQE  HALL. 

tain,  in  the  distance,  lies  my  native  village :  but  it  is  no  longer 
a  home  for  me.  From  thence  he  lured  me,  when  I  was  too 
young  for  reflection;  he  educated  me,  taught  me  various  ac- 
complishments, made  me  sensible  to  love,  to  splendour,  to  re- 
finement ;  then,  having  grown  weary  of  me,  he  neglected  me, 
and  cast  me  upon  the  world.  Happily  the  accomplishments  he 
taught  me  have  kept  me  from  utter  want;  and  the  love  with 
which  he  inspired  me  has  kept  me  from  farther  degradation. 
Yes !  I  confess  my  weakness ;  all  his  perfidy  and  wrongs  can- 
not efface  him  from  my  heart.  I  have  been  brought  up  to  love 
him ;  I  have  no  other  idol :  I  know  him  to  be  base,  yet  I  cannot 
help  adoring  him.  I  am  content  to  mingle  among  the  hireling 
throng  that  administer  to  his  amusements,  that  I  may  still 
hover  about  him,  and  linger  in  those  halls  where  I  once  reign-  <1 
mistress.  What  merit,  then,  have  I  in  assisting  your  escape? 
I  scarce  know  whether  I  am  acting  from  sympathy  and  a  de- 
sire to  rescue  another  victim  from  his  power ;  or  jealousy,  and 
an  eagerness  to  remove  too  powerful  a  rival !" 

While  she  was  yet  speaking,  the  sun  rose  in  all  its  splendour; 
first  lighting  up  the  mountain  summits,  then  stealing  down 
height  by  height,  until  its  rays  gilded  the  domes  and  towers  of 
Granada,  which  they  could  partially  see  from  between  the 
trees,  below  them.  Just  then  the  heavy  tones  of  a  bell  came 
sounding  from  a  distance,  echoing,  in  sullen  clang,  along  the 
mountain.  Inez  turned  pale  at  the  sound.  She  knew  it  to  be 
the  great  bell  of  the  cathedral,  rung  at  sunrise  on  the  day  of 
the  auto  da  fe,  to  give  note  of  funeral  preparation.  Every  stroke 
beat  upon  her  heart,  and  inflicted  an  absolute,  corporeal  pang. 
She  started  up  wildly.  "Let  us  begone!"  cried  she;  "there 
is  not  a  moment  for  delay !" 

"Stop!"  exclaimed  the  other;  "yonder  are  horsemen  com- 
ing over  the  brow  of  that  distant  height ;  if  I  mistake  not,  Don 
Ambrosio  is  at  their  head. — Alas!  'tis  he!  we  are  lost.  Hold!" 
continued  she;  "give  me  your  scarf  and  veil;  wrap  yourself  in 
this  mantilla.  I  will  fly  up  yon  footpath  that  loads  to  the 
heights.  I  will  let  the  veil  flutter  as  I  ascend ;  perhaps  they 
may  mistake  me  for  you,  and  they  must  dismount  to  follow 
me.  Do  you  hasten  forward:  you  will  soon  reach  the  main 
road.  You  have  jewels  on  your  fingers :  bribe  the  first  mule- 
teer you  meet,  to  assist  you  on  your  way." 

All  this  was  said  with  hurried  and  breathless  rapidity.  The 
exchange  of  garments  was  made  in  an  instant.  The  girl  dart « •.  I 
up  the  mountain-path,  her  white  veil  fluttering  among  the  dark 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  153 

shrubbery,  while  Inez,  inspired  with  new  strength,  or  rather 
new  terror,  flew  to  the  road,  and  trusted  to  Providence  to  guide 
her  tottering  steps  to  Granada. 

All  Granada  was  in  agitation  on  the  morning  of  this  dismal 
day.  The  heavy  bell  of  the  cathedral  continued  to  utter  its 
clanging  tones,  that  pervaded  every  pai't  of  the  city,  summon- 
ing all  persons  to  the  tremendous  spectacle  that  was  about  to 
be  exhibited.  The  streets  through  which  the  procession  was  to 
pass  were  crowded  with  the  populace.  The  windows,  the  roofs, 
every  place  that  could  admit  a  face  or  a  foothold,  were  alive 
with  spectators.  In  the  great  square,  a  spacious  scaffolding, 
like  an  amphitheatre,  was  erected,  where  the  sentences  of  the 
prisoners  were  to  be  read,  and  the  sermon  of  faith  to  be 
preached ;  and  close  by  were  the  stakes  prepared,  where  the 
condemned  were  to  be  burnt  to  death.  Seats  were  arranged 
for  the  great,  the  gay,  the  beautiful ;  for  such  is  the  horrible 
curiosity  of  human  nature,  that  this  cruel  sacrifice  was  attended 
with  more  eagerness  than  a  theatre,  or  even  a  bull-feast. 

As  the  day  advanced,  the  scaffolds  and  balconies  were  filled 
with  expecting  multitudes;  the  sun  shone  brightly  upon  fair 
faces  and  gallant  dresses;  one  would  have  thought  it  some 
scene  of  elegant  festivity,  instead  of  an  exhibition  of  human 
agony  and  death.  But  what  a  different  spectacle  and  ceremony 
was  this,  from  those  which  Granada  exhibited  in  the  days  of 
her  Moorish  splendour!  "Her  galas,  her  tournaments,  her 
sports  of  the  ring,  her  fetes  of  St.  John,  her  music,  her  Zam- 
oras,  and  admirable  tilts  of  canes !  Her  serenades,  her  concerts, 
her  songs  in  Generaliff e !  The  costly  liveries  of  the  Abencer- 
rages,  their  exquisite  inventions,  the  skill  and  valour  of  the 
Alabaces,  the  superb  dresses  of  the  Zegries,  Mazas,  and  Gome- 
les !"  * — All  these  were  at  an  end.  The  days  of  chivalry  were 
over.  Instead  of  the  prancing  cavalcade,  with  neighing  steed 
and  lively  trumpet ;  with  burnished  lance,  and  helm,  and  buck- 
ler ;  with  rich  confusion  of  plume,  and  scarf,  and  banner,  where 
purple,  and  scarlet,  and  green,  and  orange,  and  every  gay 
colour,  were  mingled  with  cloth  of  gold  and  fair  embroidery ; 
instead  of  this,  crept  on  the  gloomy  pageant  of  superstition,  in 
cowl  and  sackcloth ;  with  cross  and  cofiin,  and  frightful  sym- 
bols of  human  suffering.  In  place  of  the  frank,  hardy  knight, 
open  and  brave,  with  his  lady's  favour  in  his  casque,  and 
amorous  motto  on  his  shield,  looking,  by  gallant  deeds,  to  win 

*  Rodd's  Civil  Wars  of  Granada, 


154  BRACEEEIDOE  HALL. 

the  smile  of  beauty,  came  the  shaven,  unmanly  monk,  with 
downcast  eyes,  and  head  and  heart  bleached  in  the  cold  cloister, 
secretly  exulting  in  this  bigot  triumph. 

The  sound  of  the  bells  gave  notice  that  the  dismal  procession 
was  advancing.  It  passed  slowly  through  the  principal  streets 
of  the  city,  bearing  in  advance  the  awful  banner  of  the  Holy 
Office.  The  prisoners  walked  singly,  attended  by  confessors,  \ 
and  guarded  by  f amiliars  of  the  inquisition.  They  were  clad 
in  different  garments,  according  to  the  nature  of  their  punish 
ments;  those  who  were  to  suffer  death  wore  the  hideous 
Samarra,  painted  with  flames  and  demons.  The  procession 
was  swelled  by  choirs  of  boys,  different  religious  orders  and 
public  dignitaries,  and  above  all,  by  the  fathers  of  the  faith, 
moving  "with  slow  pace,  and  profound  gravity,  truly  tri- 
umphing as  becomes  the  principal  generals  of  that  great  vic- 
tory."* 

As  the  sacred  banner  of  the  inquisition  advanced,  the  count- 
less throng  sunk  on  their  knees  before  it;  they  bowed  their 
faces  to  the  very  earth  as  it  passed,  and  then  slowly  rose  again, 
like  a  great  undulating  billow.  A  murmur  of  tongues  prevailed 
as  the  prisoners  approached,  and  eager  eyes  were  strained,  and 
fingers  pointed,  to  distinguish  the  different  orders  of  penitents, 
whose  habits  denoted  the  degree  of  punishment  they  were  to 
undergo.  But  as  those  drew  near  whose  frightful  garb  marked 
them  as  destined  to  the  flames,  the  noise  of  the  rabble  subsided ; 
they  seemed  almost  to  hold  in  their  breath;  filled  with  that 
strange  and  dismal  interest  with  which  we  contemplate  a  human 
being  on  the  verge  of  suffering  and  death. 

It  is  an  awful  thing — a  voiceless,  noiseless  multitude  !  The 
hushed  and  gazing  stillness  of  the  surrounding  thousands, 
heaped  on  walls,  and  gates,  and  roofs,  and  hanging,  as  it  were, 
in  clusters,  heightened  the  effect  of  the  pageant  that  moved 
drearily  on.  The  low  murmuring  of  the  priests  could  now  be 
heard  in  prayer  and  exhortation,  with  the  faint  responses  of 
the  prisoners,  and  now  and  then  the  voices  of  the  choir  at  a 
distance,  chanting  the  litanies  of  the  saints. 

The  faces  of  the  prisoners  were  ghastly  and  disconsolate. 
Even  those  who  had  been  pardoned,  and  wore  the  Sanbenito, 
or  penitential  garment,  bore  traces  of  the  horrors  they  had 
undergone.  Some  were  feeble  and  tottering,  from  long  con- 
finement ;  some  crippled  and  distorted  by  various  tortures ; 

•  Gonsalviue,  p.  186. 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  158 

every  countenance  was  a  dismal  page,  on  whicK  might  be  read 
the  secrets  of  their  prison-house.  But  in  the  looks  of  those  con- 
demned to  death,  there  was  something  fierce  and  eager.  They 
seemed  men  harrowed  up  by  the  past,  and  desperate  as  to  the 
future.  They  were  anticipating,  with  spirits  fevered  by  despair, 
and  fixed  and  clenched  determination,  the  vehement  struggle 
with  agony  and  death  which  they  were  shortly  to  undergo. 
Some  cast  now  and  then  a  wild  and  anguished  look  about  them, 
upon  the  shining  day;  the  "sun-bright  palaces, "the  gay,  the 
beautiful  world,  which  they  were  soon  to  quit  for  ever ;  or  a 
glance  of  sudden  indignation  at  the  thronging  thousands,  happy 
in  liberty  and  life,  who  seemed,  in  contemplating  their  fright' 
ful  situation,  to  exult  in  their  own  comparative  security. 

One  among  the  condemned,  however,  was  an  exception  to 
these  remarks.  It  was  an  aged  man,  somewhat  bowed  down, 
with  a  serene,  though  dejected  countenance,  and  a  beaming, 
melancholy  eye.  It  was  the  alchymist.  The  populace  looked 
upon  him  with  a  degree  of  compassion,  which  they  were  not 
prone  to  feel  towards  criminals  condemned  by  the  inquisition; 
but  when  they  were  told  that  he  was  convicted  of  the  crime  of 
magic,  they  drew  back  with  awe  and  abhorrence. 

The  procession  had  reached  the  grand  square.  The  first  part 
had  already  mounted  the  scaffolding,  and  the  condemned  were 
approaching.  The  press  of  the  populace  became  excessive,  and 
was  repelled,  as  it  were,  in  billows  by  the  guards.  Just  as  the 
condemned  were  entering  the  square,  a  shrieking  was  heard 
among  the  crowd.  A  female,  pale,  frantic,  dishevelled,  was 
seen  struggling  through  the  multitude.  "My  father!  my 
father!"  was  all  the  cry  she  uttered,  but  it  thrilled  through 
every  heart.  The  crowd  instinctively  drew  back,  and  made 
way  for  her  as  she  advanced. 

The  poor  alchymist  had  made  his  peace  with  Heaven,  and, 
by  a  hard  struggle,  had  closed  his  heart  upon  the  world,  when 
the  voico  of  his  child  called  him  once  more  back  to  worldly 
thought  and  agony.  He  turned  towards  the  well-known  voice  •, 
his  knees  smote  together ;  he  endeavoured  to  stretch  forth  his 
pinioned  arms,  and  felt  himself  clasped  in  the  embraces  of  his 
child.  The  emotions  of  both  were  too  agonizing  for  utterance. 
Convulsive  sobs  and  broken  exclamations,  and  embraces  more 
of  anguish  than  tenderness,  were  all  that  passed  between  them. 
The  procession  was  interrupted  for  a  moment.  The  astonished 
monks  and  familiars  were  filled  with  involuntary  respect,  at 
the  agony  of  natural  affection.  Ejaculations  of  pity  broke 


156  4RACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

from  the  crowd,  touched  by  the  filial  piety,  the  extraordinary 
and  hopeless  anguish,  of  so  young  and  beautiful  a  being. 

Every  attempt  to  soothe  her,  and  prevail  on  her  to  retire, 
was  unheeded;  at  length  they  endeavoured  to  separate  her 
from  her  father  by  force.  The  movement  roused  her  from  her 
temporary  abandonment.  With  a  sudden  paroxysm  of  fury, 
she  snatched  a  sword  from  one  of  the  familiars.  Her  late  pale1 
countenance  was  flushed  with  rage,  and  fire  flashed  from  her 
once  soft  and  languishing  eyes.  The  guards  shrunk  back  with 
awe.  There  was  something  in  this  filial  frenzy,  this  feminine 
tenderness  wrought  up  to  desperation,  that  touched  even  their 
hardened  hearts.  They  endeavoured  to  pacify  her,  but  in  vain. 
Her  eye  was  eager  and  quick,  as  the  she-wolf's  guarding  her 
young.  With  one  arm  she  pressed  her  father  to  her  bosom, 
with  the  other  she  menaced  every  one  that  approached. 

The  patience  of  the  guards  was  soon  exhausted.  They  had 
held  back  in  awe,  but  not  in  fear.  With  all  her  desperation 
the  weapon  was  soon  wrested  from  her  feeble  hand,  and  she 
was  borne  shrieking  and  struggling  among  the  crowd.  The 
rabble  murmured  compassion ;  but  such  was  the  dread  inspired 
by  the  inquisition,  that  no  one  attempted  to  interfere. 

The  procession  again  resumed  its  march.  Inez  was  ineffect- 
ually struggling  to  release  herself  from  the  hands  of  the  fami- 
liars that  detained  her,  when  suddenly  she  saw  Don  Ambrosio 
before  her.  "  Wretched  girl!"  exclaimed  he  with  fury,  "why 
have  you  fled  from  your  friends  ?  Deliver  her,"  said  he  to  the 
familiars,  "  to  my  domestics;  she  is  under  my  protection." 

His  creatures  advanced  to  seize  her.  "Oh,  no!  oh,  no!" 
cried  she,  with  new  terrors,  and  clinging  to  the  familiars,  "  I 
have  fled  from  no  friends.  He  is  not  my  protector !  He  is  the 
murderer  of  my  father !" 

The  familiars  were  perplexed;  the  crowd  pressed  on,  with 
eager  curiosity.  "Stand  off!"  cried  the  fiery  Ambrosio,  dash-( 
ing  the  throng  from  around  him.  Then  turning  to  the  familiars, 
with  sudden  moderation,  "My  friends,"  said  he,  "deliver  this 
poor  girl  to  me.  Her  distress  has  turned  her  brain ;  she  has 
escaped  from  her  friends  and  protectors  this  morning;  but  a 
Uttle  quiet  and  kind  treatment  will  restore  her  to  tranquillity." 

"I  am  not  mad!  I  am  not  mad!"  cried  she,  vehemently. 
"  Oh,  save  me ! — save  me  from  these  men !  I  have  no  protector 
on  c;irth  but  my  father,  and  him  they  are  murdering!" 

The  f  amiliars  shook  their  heads ;  her  wildness  corroborated 
tlie  assertions  of  Don  Ambrosio,  and  his  apparent  rank  com- 


TEE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  167 

manded  respect  and  belief.  They  relinquished  their  charge  to 
him,  and  he  was  consigning  the  struggling  Inez  to  his  creatures. 

"Let  go  your  hold,  villain!"  cried  a  voice  from  among  the 
crowd — and  Antonio  was  seen  eagerly  tearing  his  way  through 
the  press  of  people. 

' '  Seize  him !  seize  him !"  cried  Don  Ambrosio  to  the  familiars, 
"  'tis  an  accomplice  of  the  sorcerer's." 

"Liar!"  retorted  Antonio,  as  he  thrust  the  mob  to  the  right 
and  left,  and  forced  himself  to  the  spot. 

The  sword  of  Don  Ambrosio  flashed  in  an  instant  from  the 
scabbard;  the  student  was  armed,  and  equally  alert.  There 
was  a  fierce  clash  of  weapons :  the  crowd  made  way  for  them 
as  they  fought,  and  closed  again,  so  as  to  hide  them  from  the 
view  of  Inez.  All  was  tumult  and  confusion  for  a  moment; 
when  there  was  a  kind  of  shout  from  the  spectators,  and  the 
mob  again  opening,  she  beheld,  as  she  thought,  Antonio  welter- 
ing in  his  blood. 

This  new  shock  was  too  great  for  her  already  overstrained 
Intellect.  A  giddiness  seized  upon  her ;  every  thing  seemed  to 
whirl  before  her  eyes ;  she  gasped  some  incoherent  words,  and 
sunk  senseless  upon  the  ground. 

Days — weeks  elapsed,  before  Inez  returned  to  consciousness. 
At  length  she  opened  her  eyes,  as  if  out  of  a  troubled  sleep. 
She  was  lying  upon  a  magnificent  bed,  in  a  chamber  richly 
furnished  with  pier-glasses,  and  massive  tables  inlaid  with 
silver,  of  exquisite  workmanship.  The  walls  were  covered 
with  tapestry;  the  cornices  richly  gilded;  through  the  door, 
which  stood  open,  she  perceived  a  superb  saloon,  with  statues 
and  crystal  lustres,  and  a  magnificent  suite  of  apartments 
beyond.  The  casements  of  the  room  were  open  to  admit  the 
soft  breath  of  summer,  which  stole  in,  laden  with  perfumes 
from  a  neighbouring  garden ;  from  whence,  also,  the  refreshing 
sound  of  fountains  and  the  sweet  notes  of  birds  came  in  mingled 
music  to  her  ear. 

Female  attendants  were  moving,  with  noiseless  step,  about 
the  chamber;  but  she  feared  to  address  them.  She  doubted 
whether  this  was  not  all  delusion,  or  whether  she  was  not  still 
in  the  palace  of  Don  Ambrosio,  and  that  her  escape,  and  all  its 
circumstances,  had  not  been  but  a  feverish  dream.  She  closed 
her  eyes  again,  endeavouring  to  recall  the  past,  and  to  sepa- 
rate the  real  from  the  imaginary.  The  last  scenes  of  con- 
sciousness, however,  rushed  too  forcibly,  with  all  their  horrors, 
to  her  mind  to  be  doubted,  and  she  turned  shuddering  from 


158  BRACEBWDGE  HALL. 

the  recollection,  to  gaze  once  more  on  the  quiet  and  sereno 
magnificence  around  her.  As  she  again  opened  her  eyes,  they 
rested  on  an  object  that  at  once  dispelled  every  alarm.  At  the 
head  of  her  bed  sat  a  venerable  form,  watching  over  her  with 
a  look  of  fond  anxiety — it  was  her  father ! 

I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  scene  that  ensued ;  nor  the 
moments  of  rapture  which  more  than  repaid  all  the  sufferings 
that  her  affectionate  heart  had  undergone.  As  soon  as  their 
feelings  had  become  more  calm,  the  aJchymist  stepped  out  of 
the  room  to  introduce  a  stranger,  to  whom  he  was  indebted  for 
his  life  and  liberty.  He  returned,  leading  in  Antonio,  no 
longer  in  his  poor  scholar's  garb,  but  in  the  rich  dress  of  a 
nobleman. 

The  feelings  of  Inez  were  almost  overpowered  by  these  sud- 
den reverses,  and  it  was  some  time  before  she  was  sufficiently 
composed  to  comprehend  the  explanation  of  this  seeming 
romance. 

It  appeared  that  the  lover,  who  had  sought  her  affections  in 
the  lowly  guise  of  a  student,  was  only  son  and  heir  of  a  power- 
ful grandee  of  Valentia.  He  had  been  placed  at  the  university 
of  Salamanca;  but  a  lively  curiosity,  and  an  eagerness  for 
adventure,  had  induced  him  to  abandon  the  university,  with- 
out his  father's  consent,  and  to  visit  various  parts  of  Spain. 
His  rambling  inclination  satisfied,  he  had  remained  incognito 
for  a  time  at  Granada,  until,  by  farther  study  and  self -regula- 
tion, he  could  prepare  himself  to  return  home  with  credit,  and 
atone  for  his  transgressions  against  paternal  authority. 

How  hard  he  had  studied,  does  not  remain  on  record.  All 
that  we  know  is  his  romantic  adventure  of  the  tower.  It  was 
at  first  a  mere  youthful  caprice,  excited  by  a  glimpse  of  a 
beautiful  face.  In  becoming  a  disciple  of  the  alchymist,  he 
probably  thought  of  nothing  more  than  pursuing  a  light  love 
affair.  Farther  acquaintance,  however,  had  completely  fixed 
his  affections ;  and  he  had  determined  to  conduct  Inez  and  her 
father  to  Valentia,  and  to  trust  to  her  merits  to  secure  his 
father's  consent  to  their  union. 

In  the  meantime,  he  had  been  traced  to  his  concealment. 
His  father  had  received  intelligence  of  his  being  entangled  in 
the  snares  of  a  mysterious  adventurer  and  his  daughter,  and 
likely  to  become  the  dupe  of  the  fascinations  of  the  latter. 
Trusty  emissaries  had  been  despatched  to  seize  upon  him  by 
main  force,  and  convey  him  without  delay  to  the  paternal 
home. 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  159 

What  eloquence  he  had  used  with  his  father,  to  convince  him 
of  the  innocence,  the  honour,  and  the  high  descent  of  the 
alchymist,  and  of  the  exalted  worth  of  his  daughter,  does  not 
appear.  All  that  we  know  is,  that  the  father,  though  a  very 
passionate,  was  a  very  reasonable  man,  as  appears  by  his  con- 
senting that  his  son  should  return  to  Granada,  and  conduct 
Inez  as  his  affianced  bride  to  Valentia.  \ 

Away,  then,  Don  Antonio  hurried  back,  full  of  joyous  antici- 1 
pations.  He  still  forbore  to  throw  off  his  disguise,  fondly  pic- 
turing to  himself  what  would  be  the  surprise  of  Inez,  when, 
having  won  her  heart  and  hand  as  a  poor  wandering  scholar, 
he  should  raise  her  and  her  father  at  once  to  opulence  and 
splendour. 

On  his  arrival  he  had  been  shocked  at  finding  the  tower 
deserted  by  its  inhabitants.  In  vain  he  sought  for  intelligence 
concerning  them;  a  mystery  hung  over  their  disappearance 
which  he  could  not  penetrate,  until  he  was  thunderstruck,  on 
accidentally  reading  a  list  of  the  prisoners  at  the  impending 
auto  da  fe,  to  find  the  name  of  his  venerable  master  among  the 
condemned. 

It  was  the  very  morning  of  the  execution.  The  procession 
was  already  on  its  way  to  the  grand  square.  Not  a  moment 
was  to  be  lost.  The  grand  inquisitor  was  a  relation  of  Don 
Antonio,  though  they  had  never  met.  His  first  impulse  was  to 
make  himself  known;  to  exert  all  his  family  influence,  the 
weight  of  his  name,  and  the  power  of  his  eloquence,  in  vindica- 
tion of  the  alchymist.  But  the  grand  inquisitor  was  already 
proceeding,  in  all  his  pomp,  to  the  place  where  the  fatal  cere- 
mony was  to  be  performed.  How  was  he  to  be  approached  ? 
Antonio  threw  himself  into  the  crowd,  in  a  fever  of  anxiety, 
and  was  forcing  his  way  to  the  scene  of  horror,  where  he 
arrived  just  in  time  to  rescue  Inez,  as  has  been  mentioned. 

It  was  Don  Ambrosio  that  fell  in  their  contest.  Being  desper- 
ately wounded,  and  thinking  his  end  approaching,  he  had  con- 
fessed to  an  attending  father  of  the  inquisition,  that  he  was  the 
sole  cause  of  the  alchymist's  condemnation,  and  that  the  evi- 
dence on  which  it  was  grounded  was  altogether  false.  The 
testimony  of  Don  Antonio  came  in  corroboration  of  this 
avowal ;  and  his  relationship  to  the  grand  inquisitor  had,  in  all 
probability,  its  proper  weight.  Thus  was  the  poor  alchymist 
snatched,  in  a  manner,  from  the  very  flames ;  and  so  great  had 
been  the  sympathy  awakened  in  his  case,  that  for  once  a  popu- 
lace rejoiced  at  being  disappointed  of  an  execution. 


160  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

The  residue  of  the  story  may  readily  be  imagined,  by  every 
one  versed  in  this  valuable  kind  of  history.  Don  Antonio 
espoused  the  lovely  Inez,  and  took  her  and  her  father  with  him 
to  Valentia.  As  she  had  been  a  loving  and  dutiful  daughter, 
so  she  proved  a  true  and  tender  wife.  It  was  not  long  before 
Don  Antonio  succeeded  to  his  father's  titles  and  estates,  and 
he  and  his  fair  spouse  were  renowned  for  being  the  handsom- 
est and  happiest  couple  in  all  Valentia. 

As  to  Don  Ambrosio,  he  partially  recovered  to  the  enjoyment 
of  a  broken  constitution  and  a  blasted  name,  and  hid  his 
remorse  and  disgrace  in  a  convent :  while  the  poor  victim  of 
his  arts,  who  had  assisted  Inez  in  her  escape,  unable  to  con- 
quer the  early  passion  that  he  had  awakened  in  her  bosom, 
though  convinced  of  the  baseness  of  the  object,  retired  from 
the  world,  and  became  an  humble  sister  in  a  nunnery. 

The  worthy  alchymist  took  up  his  abode  with  his  children. 
A  pavilion,  in  the  garden  of  their  palace,  was  assigned  to  lu'm 
as  a  laboratory,  where  he  resumed  his  researches  with  reno- 
vated ardour,  after  the  grand  secret.  He  was  now  and  then 
assisted  by  his  son-in-law ;  but  the  latter  slackened  grievously 
in  his  zeal  and  diligence,  after  marriage.  Still  he  would  listen 
with  profound  gravity  and  attention  to  the  old  man's  rhapso- 
dies, and  his  quotations  from  Paracelsus,  Sandivogius,  and 
Pietro  D'Abano,  which  daily  grew  longer  and  longer.  In  this 
way  the  good  alchymist  lived  on  quietly  and  comfortably,  to 
what  is  called  a  good  old  age,  that  is  to  say,  an  age  that  is 
good  for  nothing ;  and  unfortunately  for  mankind,  was  hurried 
out  of  life  in  his  ninetieth  year,  just  as  he  was  on  the  point  of 
discovering  the  Philosopher's  Stone. 

Such  was  the  story  of  the  captain's  friend,  with  which  we 
whiled  away  the  morning.  The  captain  was,  every  now  and 
then,  interrupted  by  questions  and  remarks,  which  I  have  not 
mentioned,  lest  I  should  break  the  continuity  of  the  tale.  He 
was  a  little  disturbed,  also,  once  or  twice,  by  the  general,  who 
fell  asleep,  and  breathed  rather  hard,  to  the  great  horror  and 
annoyance  of  Lady  Lillycraft.  In  a  long  and  tender  love 
scene,  also,  which  was  particularly  to  her  ladyship's  taste,  the 
unlucky  general,  having  his  head  a  little  sunk  upon  his  breast, 
kept  making  a  sound  at  regular  intervals,  very  much  like  the 
word  pish,  long  drawn  out.  At  length  he  made  an  odd  abrupt 
guttural  sound,  that  suddenly  awoke  him ;  he  hemmed,  looked 
about  with  a  slight  degree  of  consternation,  and  then  began  to 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  161 

play  with  her  ladyship's  work-bag,  which,  however,  she  rather 
pettishly  withdrew.  The  steady  sound  of  the  captain's  voice 
was  still  too  potent  a  soporific  for  the  poor  general;  he  kept 
gleaming  up  and  sinking  in  the  socket,  until  the  cessation  of 
the  tale  again  roused  him,  when  he  started  awake,  put  his 
foot  down  upon  Lady  Lillycraft's  cur,  the  sleeping  Beauty, 
which  yelped  and  seized  him  by  the  leg,  and,  in  a  moment, 
the  whole  library  resounded  with  yelpings  and  exclamations. 
Never  did  man  more  completely  mar  his  fortunes  while  he  was 
asleep.  Silence  being  at  length  restored,  the  company  expressed 
their  thanks  to  the  captain,  and  gave  various  opinions  of  the 
story.  The  parson's  mind,  I  found,  had  been  continually  run- 
ning upon  the  leaden  manuscripts,  mentioned  in  the  beginning, 
as  dug  up  at  Granada,  and  he  put  several  eager  questions  to 
the  captain  on  the  subject.  The  general  could  not  well  make 
out  the  drift  of  the  story,  but  thought  it  a  little  confused.  "I 
am  glad,  however,"  said  he,  "that  they  burnt  the  old  chap 
of  the  tower;  I  have  no  doubt  he  was  a  notorious  impostor." 


[BND  OF  VOL.  OMB.] 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL; 

OB, 

THE     HUMOURISTS. 

A  MEDLEY. 
BY  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  GENT. 


VOLUME   SECOND. 


Tinder  this  cloud  I  walk,  Gentlemen;  pardon  my  rude  assault.  I  am  a  traveller, 
•who,  having  surveyed  most  of  the  terrestrial  angles  of  this  globe,  am  hithei 
arrived,  to  peruse  this  little  spot.— CHRISTMAS  ORDINARY. 

ENGLISH  COUNTRY  GENTLEMEN. 

His  certain  life,  that  never  can  deceive  him, 

Is  full  of  thousand  sweets,  and  rich  content; 
The  smooth-leaved  beeches  in  the  field  receive  him 

With  coolest  shade,  till  noontide's  heat  be  spent. 
His  life  is  neither  tost  in  boisterous  seas 

Or  the  vexatious  world ;  or  lost  in  slothful  ease. 
Pleased  and  full  blest  he  lives,  when  he  his  God  can  please. 

— PHINEAS  FLETCHER. 

I  TAKE  great  pleasure  in  accompanying  the  Squire  in  his  per- 
ambulations about  his  estate,  in  which  he  is  often  attended  by 
a  kind  of  cabinet  council.  His  prime  minister,  the  steward, 
is  a  very  worthy  and  honest  old  man,  that  assumes  a  right  of 
way ;  that  is  to  say,  a  right  to  have  his  own  way,  from  having 
lived  time  out  of  mind  on  the  place.  He  loves  the  estate  even 
better  than  he  does  the  Squire ;  and  thwarts  the  latter  sadly  in 
many  of  his  projects  of  improvement,  being  a  little  prone  to 
disapprove  of  every  plan  that  does  not  originate  with  himself. 

In  the  course  of  one  of  these  perambulations,  I  have  known 
the  Squire  to  point  out  some  important  alteration  which  he 


164  BRACEBRTDOE  HALL. 

was  contemplating,  in  the  disposition  or  cultivation  of  the 
grounds;  this,  of  course,  would  be  opposed  by  the  steward,  and 
a  long  argument  would  ensue,  over  a  stile,  or  on  a  rising  piece 
of  ground,  until  the  Squire,  who  has  a  high  opinion  of  the 
other's  ability  and  integrity,  would  be  fain  to  give  up  the 
point.  This  concession,  I  observed,  would  immediately  mollify 
ithe  old  man ;  and,  after  walking  over  a  field  or  two  in  silence, 
'with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  chewing  the  cud  of  reflection, 
he  would  suddenly  turn  to  the  Squire,  and  observe,  that  "he 
had  been  turning  the  matter  over  in  his  mind,  and,  upon  the 
whole,  he  believed  he  would  take  his  honour's  advice." 

Christy,  the  huntsman,  is  another  of  the  Squire's  occasional 
attendants,  to  whom  he  continually  refers  in  all  matters  of 
local  history,  as  to  a  chronicle  of  the  estate,  having,  in  a  man- 
ner, been  acquainted  with  many  of  the  trees,  from  the  very 
time  that  they  were  acorns.  Old  Nimrod,  as  has  been  shown, 
is  rather  pragmatical  in  those  points  of  knowledge  on  which 
he  values  himself;  but  the  Squire  rarely  contradicts  him,  and 
is,  in  fact,  one  of  the  most  indulgent  potentates  that  ever  was 
henpecked  by  his  ministry. 

He  often  laughs  about  it  himself,  and  evidently  yields  to 
these  old  men  more  from  the  bent  of  his  own  humour  than  from 
any  want  of  proper  authority.  He  likes  this  honest  indepen- 
dence of  old  age,  and  is  well  aware  that  these  trusty  followers 
love  and  honour  him  in  their  hearts.  He  is  perfectly  at  ease 
about  his  own  dignity,  and  the  respect  of  those  around  him ; 
nothing  disgusts  him  soone1*  than  any  appearance  of  fawning 
or  sycophancy. 

I  really  have  seen  no  display  of  royal  state,  that  could  com- 
pare with  one  of  the  Squire's  progresses  about  his  paternal  fields 
and  through  his  hereditary  woodlands,  with  several  of  these 
i  faithful  adherents  about  him,  and  followed  by  a  body-guard  of 
dogs.  He  encourages  a  frankness  and  manliness  of  deport- 
ment among  his  dependants,  and  is  the  personal  friend  of  his 
tenants;  inquiring  into  their  concerns,  and  assisting  them  in 
times  of  difficulty  and  hardship.  This  has  rendered  him  one  of 
the  most  popular,  and  of  course  one  of  the  happiest,  of  land- 
lords. 

Indeed,  I  do  not  know  a  more  enviable  condition  of  life, 
than  that  of  an  English  gentleman,  of  sound  judgment  and 
good  feelings,  who  passes  the  greater  part  of  his  time  on  an 
hereditary  estate  in  the  country.  From  the  excellence  of  the 
roads,  and  the  rapidity  and  exactness  of  the  public  convey* 


ENGIISII  COUNTRY  GENTLEMEN.  165 

ances,  he  is  enabled  to  command  all  the  comforts  and  conven- 
iences, all  the  intelligence  and  novelties  of  the  capital,  while 
he  is  removed  from  its  hurry  and  distraction.  He  has  ample 
means  of  occupation  and  amusement,  within  his  own  domains  ; 
he  may  diversify  his  time,  by  rural  occupations,  by  rural 
sports,  by  study,  and  by  the  delights  of  friendly  society  col- 
lected within  his  own  hospitable  halls. 

Or,  if  his  views  and  feelings  are  of  a  more  extensive  and 
liberal  nature,  he  has  it  greatly  in  his  power  to  do  good,  and 
to  have  that  good  immediately  reflected  back  upon  himself. 
He  can  render  essential  services  to  his  country,  by  assisting  in 
the  disinterested  administration  of  the  laws ;  by  watching  ovei 
the  opinions  and  principles  of  the  lower  orders  around  him ;  by 
diffusing  among  them  those  lights  which  may  be  important 
to  their  welfare;  by  mingling  frankly  among  them,  gaining 
their  confidence,  becoming  the  immediate  auditor  of  their  com- 
plaints, informing  himself  of  their  wants,  making  himself  a 
channel  through  which  their  grievances  may  be  quietly  com- 
municated to  the  proper  sources  of  mitigation  and  relief  ;  or 
by  becoming,  if  need  be,  the  intrepid  and  incorruptible  guar- 
dian of  their  liberties — the  enlightened  champion  of  their 
rights. 

All  this,  it  appears  to  me,  can  be  done  without  any  sacrifice 
of  personal  dignity,  without  any  degrading  arts  of  popularity, 
Avithout  any  truckling  to  vulgar  prejudices  or  concurrence  in 
vulgar  clamour  ;  but  by  the  steady  influence  of  sincere  and 
friendly  counsel,  of  fair,  upright,  and  generous  deportment. 
Whatever  may  be  said  of  English  mobs  and  English  dema- 
gogues, I  have  never  met  with  a  people  more  open  to  reason, 
more  considerate  in  their  tempers,  more  tractable  by  argument 
in  the  roughest  times,  than  the  English.  They  are  remarkably 
quick  at  discerning  and  appreciating  whatever  is  manly  and 
honourable.  They  are,  by  nature  and  habit,  methodical  and 
orderly  ;  and  they  feel  the  value  of  all  that  is  regular  and 
respectable.  They  may  occasionally  be  deceived  by  sophistry, 
and  excited  into  turbulence  by  public  distresses  and  the  mis- 
representations of  designing  men  ;  but  open  their  eyes,  and  they 
will  eventually  rally  round  the  landmarks  of  steady  truth  and 
deliberate  good  sense.  They  are  fond  of  established  customs  ; 
they  are  fond  of  long-established  names  ;  and  that  love  of  order 
and  quiet  which  characterizes  the  nation,  gives  a  vast  influence 
to  the  descendants  of  the  old  families,  whose  forefathers  have 
been  lords  of  the  soil  from  time  immemorial. 


166  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

It  is  when  the  rich  and  well-educated  and  highly -privileged 
classes  neglect  their  duties,  when  they  neglect  to  study  the  in- 
terests, and  conciliate  the  affections,  and  instruct  the  opinions, 
and  champion  the  rights  of  the  people,  that  the  latter  become 
discontented  and  turbulent,  and  fall  into  the  hands  of  dema 
gogues :  the  demagogue  always  steps  in,  where  the  patriot  is 
wanting.  There  is  a  common  high-handed  cant  among  the 
high-feeding,  and,  as  they  fancy  themselves,  high-minded  men, 
about  putting  down  the  mob ;  but  all  true  physicians  know  that 
it  is  better  to  sweeten  the  blood  than  attack  the  tumour,  to 
apply  the  emollient  rather  than  the  cautery.  It  is  absurd,  in  a 
country  like  England,  where  there  is  so  much  freedom,  and 
such  a  jealousy  of  right,  for  any  man  to  assume  an  aristocrati- 
cal  tone,  and  to  talk  superciliously  of  the  common  people. 
There  is  no  rank  that  makes  him  independent  of  the  opinions 
and  affections  of  his  fellow-men ;  there  is  no  rank  nor  distinc- 
tion that  severs  him  from  his  fellow-subjects ;  and  if,  by  any 
gradual  neglect  or  assumption  on  the  one  side,  and  discontent 
and  jealousy  on  the  other,  the  orders  of  society  should  really 
separate,  let  those  who  stand  on  the  eminence  beware  that  the 
chasm  is  not  mining  at  their  feet.  The  orders  of  society,  in  all 
well-constituted  governments,  are  mutually  bound  together, 
and  important  to  each  other ;  there  can  be  no  such  tiling  in  a 
free  government  as  a  vacuum ;  and  whenever  one  is  likely  to 
take  place,  by  the  drawing  off  of  the  rich  and  intelligent  from 
the  poor,  the  bad  passions  of  society  will  rush  in  to  fill  up  the 
space,  and  rend  the  whole  asunder. 

Though  born  and  brought  up  in  a  republic,  and  more  and 
more  confirmed  in  republican  principles  by  every  year's  obser- 
vation and  experience,  yet  I  am  not  insensible  to  the  excellence 
that  may  exist  in  other  forms  of  government,  nor  to  the  fact 
that  they  may  be  more  suitable  to  the  situation  and  circum- 
stances of  the  countries  in  which  they  exist :  I  have  endeav- 
oured rather  to  look  at  them  as  they  are,  and  to  observe  how 
they  are  calculated  to  effect  the  end  which  they  propose.  Con- 
sidering, therefore,  the  mixed  nature  of  the  government  of  this 
country,  and  its  representative  form,  I  have  looked  with  admi- 
ration at  the  manner  in  which  the  wealth  and  influence  and 
intelligence  were  spread  over  its  whole  surface ;  not  as  in  some 
monarchies,  drained  from  the  country,  and  collected  in  towns 
and  cities.  I  have  considered  the  great  rural  establishments  of 
the  nobility,  and  the  lesser  establishments  of  the  gentry,  as  so 
many  reservoirs  of  wealth  and  intelligence  distributed  about 


ENGLISH  COUNTRY  GENTLEMEN".  16? 

the  kingdom,  apart  from  the  towns,  to  irrigate,  freshen,  and 
fertilize  the  surrounding  country.  I  have  looked  upon  them, 
too,  as  the  august  retreat  of  patriots  and  statesmen,  where,  in 
the  enjoyment  of  honourable  independence  and  elegant  leisure, 
they  might  train  up  their  minds  to  appear  in  those  legislative 
assemblies,  whose  debates  and  decisions  form  the  study  and 
precedents  of  other  nations,  and  involve  the  interests  of  the 
world. 

I  have  been  both  surprised  and  disappointed,  therefore,  at 
finding  that  on  this  subject  I  was  often  indulging  in  an  Utopian 
dream,  rather  than  a  well-founded  opinion.  I  have  been 
concerned  at  finding  that  these  fine  estates  were  too  often  in- 
volved, and  mortgaged,  or  placed  in  the  hands  of  creditors,  and 
the  owners  exiled  from  their  paternal  lands.  There  is  an 
extravagance,  I  am  told,  that  runs  parallel  with  wealth;  a 
lavish  expenditure  among  the  great ;  a  senseless  competition 
among  the  aspiring;  a  heedless,  joyless  dissipation  among  all 
the  upper  ranks,  that  often  beggars  even  these  splendid  estab- 
lishments, breaks  down  the  pride  and  principles  of  their  pos- 
sessors, and  makes  too  many  of  them  mere  place-hunters,  or 
shifting  absentees.  It  is  thus  that  so  many  are  thrown  into  the 
hands  of  government ;  and  a  court,  which  ought  to  be  the  most 
pure  and  honourable  in  Europe,  is  so  often  degraded  by  noble, 
but  importunate  time-servers.  It  is  thus,  too,  that  so  many 
become  exiles  from  their  native  land,  crowding  the  hotels  of 
foreign  countries,  and  expending  upon  thankless  strangers  the 
wealth  so  hardly  drained  from  their  laborious  peasantry.  I 
have  looked  upon  these  latter  with  a  mixture  of  censure  and 
concern.  Knowing  the  almost  bigoted  fondness  of  an  English- 
man for  his  native  home,  I  can  conceive  what  must  be  their 
compunction  and  regret,  when,  amidst  the  sunburnt  plains  of 
France,  they  call  to  mind  the  green  fields  of  England;  the 
hereditary  groves  which  they  have  abandoned ;  and  the  hospi- 
table roof  of  their  fathers,  which  they  have  left  desolate,  or  to 
be  inhabited  by  strangers.  But  retrenchment  is  no  plea  for 
abandonment  of  country.  They  have  risen  with  the  prosperity 
of  the  land;  let  them  abide  its  fluctuations,  and  conform  to 
its  fortunes.  It  is  not  for  the  rich  to  fly,  because  the  country 
is  suffering:  let  them  share,  in  their  relative  proportion,  the 
common  lot ;  they  owe  it  to  the  land  that  has  elevated  them  to 
honour  and  affluence.  When  the  poor  have  to  diminish  their 
scanty  morsels  of  bread ;  when  they  have  to  compound  with 
the  cravings  of  nature,  and  study  with  how  little  they  can  do, 


168  SRACESRIDGE  HALL 

and  not  be  starved ;  it  is  not  then  for  the  rich  to  fly,  and  di- 
minish still  farther  the  resources  of  the  poor,  that  they  them- 
selves may  live  in  splendour  in  a  cheaper  country.  Let  them 
rather  retire  to  their  estates,  and  there  practise  retrenchment. 
Let  them  return  to  that  noble  simplicity,  that  practical  good 
sense,  that  honest  pride,  which  form  the  foundation  of  true 
English  character,  and  from  them  they  may  again  rear  the 
edifice  of  fair  and  honourable  prosperity. 

On  the  rural  habits  of  the  English  nobility  and  gentry,  on 
the  manner  in  which  they  discharge  their  duties  of  their  patri- 
monial possessions,  depend  greatly  the  virtue  and  welfare  of 
the  nation.  So  long  as  they  pass  the  greater  part  of  their  time 
in  the  quiet  and  purity  of  the  country ;  surrounded  by  the 
monuments  of  their  illustriotis  ancestors ;  surrounded  by  every 
thing  that  can  inspire  generous  pride,  noble  emulation,  and 
amiable  and  magnanimous  sentiment ;  so  long  they  are  safe, 
and  in  them  the  nation  may  repose  its  interests  and  its  honour. 
But  the  moment  that  they  become  the  servile  throngers  of 
court  avenues,  and  give  themselves  up  to  the  political  intrigues 
and  heartless  dissipations  of  the  metropolis,  that  moment  they 
lose  the  real  nobility  of  their  natures,  and  become  the  mere 
leeches  of  the  country. 

That  the  great  majority  of  nobility  and  gentry  in  England 
are  endowed  with  high  notions  of  honour  and  independence,  I 
thoroughly  believe.  They  have  evidenced  it  lately  on  very 
important  questions,  and  have  given  an  example  of  adherence 
to  principle,  in  preference  to  party  and  power,  that  must  have 
astonished  many  of  the  venal  and  obsequious  courts  of  Europe. 
Such  are  the  glorious  effects  of  freedom,  when  infused  into  a 
constitution.  But  it  seems  to  me,  that  they  are  apt  to  forget 
the  positive  nature  of  their  duties,  and  to  fancy  that  their  emi- 
nent privileges  are  only  so  many  moans  of  self-indulgence. 
They  should  recollect,  that  in  a  constitution  like  that  of  Eng- 
land, the  titled  orders  are  intended  to  be  as  useful  as  they  are 
ornamental,  and  it  is  their  virtues  alone  that  can  render  them 
both.  Their  duties  are  divided  between  the  sovereign  and  the 
subjects;  surrounding  and  giving  lustre  and  dignity  to  the 
throne,  and  at  the  same  time  tempering  and  mitigating  its 
rays,  until  they  are  transmitted  in  mild  and  genial  radiance  to 
the  people.  Born  to  leisure  and  opulence,  they  owe  the  exer- 
cise of  their  talents,  and  the  expenditure  of  their  wealth,  to 
their  native  country.  They  may  be  compared  to  the  clouds; 
which,  being  drawn  up  by  the  sun,  and  elevated  in  the  heavens, 


A  BACHELORS  CONFESSIONS.  169 

reflect  and  magnify  his  splendour ;  while  they  repay  the  earth, 
from  which  they  derive  their  sustenance,  by  returning  their 
treasures  to  its  bosom  in  f  ertilizing  showers. 


A  BACHELOR'S  CONFESSIONS. 

"I'll  live  a  private,  pensive  single  life." 

— The  Collier  of  Croydon. 

I  WAS  sitting  in  my  room,  a  morning  or  two  since,  reading, 
when  some  one  tapped  at  the  door,  and  Master  Simon  entered. 
He  had  an  unusually  fresh  appearance ;  he  had  put  on  a  bright 
green  riding-coat,  with  a  bunch  of  violets  in  the  button-hole, 
and  had  the  air  of  an  old  bachelor  trying  to  rejuvenate  himself. 
He  had  not,  however,  his  usual  briskness  and  vivacity ;  but 
loitered  about  the  room  with  somewhat  of  absence  of  manner, 
humming  the  old  song — "  Go,  lovely  rose,  tell  her  that  wastes 
her  time  and  me ;"  and  then,  leaning  against  the  window,  and 
looking  upon  the  landscape,  he  uttered  a  very  audible  sigh. 
As  I  had  not  been  accustomed  to  see  Master  Simon  in  a  pensive 
mood,  I  thought  there  might  be  some  vexation  preying  on  his 
mind,  and  I  endeavoured  to  introduce  a  cheerful  strain  of  con- 
versation ;  but  he  was  not  in  the  vein  to  follow  it  up,  and  pro- 
posed that  we  should  take  a  walk. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning,  of  that  soft  vernal  temperature, 
that  seems  to  thaw  all  the  frost  out  of  one's  blood,  and  to  set 
all  nature  in  a  ferment.  The  very  fishes  felt  its  influence ;  the 
cautious  trout  ventured  out  of  his  dark  hole  to  seek  his  mate ; 
the  roach  and  the  dace  rose  up  to  the  surface  of  the  brook  to 
bask  in  the  sunshine,  and  the  amorous  frog  piped  from  among 
the  rushes.  If  ever  an  oyster  can  really  fall  in  love,  as  has 
been  said  or  sung,  it  must  be  on  such  a  morning. 

The  weather  certainly  had  its  effect  even  upon  Master  Simon, 
for  he  seemed  obstinately  bent  upon  the  pensive  mood.  Instead 
of  stepping  briskly  along,  smacking  his  dog-whip,  whistling 
quaint  ditties,  or  telh'ng  sporting  anecdotes,  he  leaned  on  my 
arm,  and  talked  about  the  approaching  nuptials ;  from  whence 
he  made  several  digressions  upon  the  character  of  womankind, 
touched  a  little  upon  the  tender  passion,  and  made  sundry  very 
excellent,  though  rather  trite,  observations  upon  disappoint- 
ments in  love.  It  was  evident  that  he  had  something  on  his 


170  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

mind  which  he  wished  10  impart,  but  felt  awkward  in  ap- 
proaching it.  I  was  curious  to  see  to  what  this  strain  would 
lead;  but  was  determined  not  to  assist  him.  Indeed,  I  mis- 
chievously pretended  to  tun.  the  conversation,  and  talked  of 
his  usual  topics,  dogs,  horses,  and  hunting ;  but  he  was  very 
brief  in  his  replies,  and  invariably  got  back,  by  hook  or  by 
crook,  into  the  sentimental  vein. 

At  length  we  came  to  a  clump  of  trees  that  overhung  a  whis- 
pering brook,  with  a  rustic  bench  at  their  feet.  The  trees 
were  grievously  scored  with  letters  and  devices,  which  had 
grown  out  of  all  shape  and  size  by  the  growth  of  the  bark ;  and 
it  appeared  that  this  grove  had  served  as  a  kind  of  register  of 
the  family  loves  from  time  immemorial.  Here  Master  Simon 
made  a  pause,  pulled  up  a  tuft  of  flowers,  threw  them  one  by 
one  into  the  water,  and  at  length,  turning  somewhat  abruptly 
upon  me,  asked  me  if  I  had  ever  been  in  love.  I  confess  the 
question  startled  me  a  little,  as  I  am  not  over-fond  of  making 
confessions  of  my  amorous  follies ;  and  above  all,  should  never 
dream  of  choosing  my  friend  Master  Simon  for  a  confidant. 
He  did  not  wait,  however,  for  a  reply ;  the  inquiry  was  merely 
a  prelude  to  a  confession  on  his  own  part,  and  after  several 
circumlocutions  and  whimsical  preambles,  he  fairly  disbur- 
thened  himself  of  a  very  tolerable  story  of  his  having  been 
crossed  in  love. 

The  reader  will,  very  probably,  suppose  that  it  related  to  the 
gay  widow  who  jilted  him  not  long  since  at  Doncaster  races; — 
no  such  thing.  It  was  about  a  sentimental  passion  that  he 
once  had  for  a  most  beautiful  young  lady,  who  wrote  poetry 
and  played  on  the  harp.  He  used  to  serenade  her ;  and,  in- 
deed, he  described  several  tender  and  gallant  scenes,  in  which 
he  was  evidently  picturing  himself  in  his  mind's  eye  as  some 
elegant  hero  of  romance,  though,  unfortunately  for  the  tale,  I 
only  saw  him  as  he  stood  before  me,  a  dapper  little  old  bache- 
lor, with  a  face  like  an  apple  that  has  dried  with  the  bloom  on 
it. 

What  were  the  particulars  of  this  tender  tale,  I  have  already 
forgotten;  indeed,  I  listened  to  it  with  a  heart  like  a  very 
pebble-stone,  having  hard  work  to  repress  a  smile  while  Master 
Simon  was  putting  on  the  amorous  swain,  uttering  every  now 
and  then  a  sigh,  and  endeavouring  to  look  sentimental  and 
melancholy. 

All  that  I  recollect  is  that  the  lady,  according  to  his  account, 
was  certainly  a  little  touched ;  for  she  used  to  accept  all  the 


A  BACHELOR'S  CONFESSIONS.  171 

music  that  he  copied  for  her  harp,  and  all  the  patterns  that  he 
drew  for  her  drosses ;  and  he  began  to  flatter  himself,  after  a 
long  course  of  delicate  attentions,  that  he  was  gradually  fan- 
ning up  a  gentle  flame  in  her  heart,  when  she  suddenly  accept- 
ed the  hand  of  a  rich,  boisterous,  fox-hunting  baronet,  without 
either  music  or  sentiment,  who  carried  her  by  storm  after  a 
fortnight's  courtship. 

Master  Simon  could  not  help  concluding  by  some  observation 
about  ' '  modest  merit, "  and  the  power  of  gold  over  the  sex.  As 
a  remembrance  of  his  passion,  he  pointed  out  a  heart  carved 
on  the  bark  of  one  of  the  trees ;  but  which,  in  the  process  of 
time,  had  grown  out  into  a  large  excrescence ;  and  he  showed 
me  a  lock  of  her  hair,  which  he  wore  in  a  true-lover's  knot,  in 
a  large  gold  brooch. 

I  have  seldom  met  with  an  old  bachelor  that  had  not,  at  some 
time  or  other,  his  nonsensical  moment,  when  he  would  become 
tender  and  sentimental,  talk  about  the  concerns  of  the  heart, 
and  have  some  confession  of  a  delicate  nature  to  make.  Al- 
most every  man  has  some  little  trait  of  romance  in  his  Me, 
which  he  looks  back  to  with  fondness,  and  about  which  he  is 
apt  to  grow  garrulous  occasionally.  He  recollects  himself  as 
he  was  at  the  time,  young  and  gamesome ;  and  forgets  that  his 
hearers  have  no  other  idea  of  the  hero  of  the  tale,  but  such  as 
he  may  appear  at  the  time  of  telling  it ;  perad venture,  a  with- 
ered, whimsical,  spindle-shanked  old  gentleman.  With  mar- 
ried men,  it  is  true,  this  is  not  so  frequently  the  case :  their 
amorous  romance  is  apt  to  decline  after  marriage ;  why,  I  cannot 
for  the  life  of  me  imagine ;  but  with  a  bachelor,  though  it  may 
slumber,  it  never  dies.  It  is  always  liable  to  break  out  again 
in  transient  flashes,  and  never  so  much  as  on  a  spring  morning 
in  the  country ;  or  on  a  winter  evening  when  seated  in  his  soli- 
tary chamber  stirring  up  the  fire  and  talking  of  matrimony. 

The  moment  that  Master  Simon  had  gone  through  his  con- 
fession, and,  to  use  the  common  phrase,  "had  made  a  clean 
breast  of  it,"  he  became  quite  himself  again.  He  had  settled 
the  point  which  had  been  worrying  his  mind,  and  doubtless 
considered  himself  established  as  a  man  of  sentiment  in  my 
opinion.  Before  we  had  finished  our  morning's  stroll,  he  was 
singing  as  blithe  as  a  grasshopper,  whistling  to  his  dogs,  and 
telling  droll  stories ;  and  I  recollect  that  he  was  particularly 
facetious  that  day  at  dinner  on  the  subject  of  matrimony,  and 
uttered  several  excellent  jokes,  not  to  be  found  in  Joe  Miller, 


172  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

that  made  the  bride  elect  blush  and  look  down,-  but  set  all  the 
old  gentlemen  at  the  table  in  a  roar,  and  absolutely  brought 
tears  into  the  general's  eyes. 


ENGLISH  GRAVITY. 

"Merrie  England!"— Ancient  Phrtue. 

THERE  is  nothing  so  rare  as  for  a  man  to  ride  his  hobby  with- 
out molestation.  I  find  the  Squire  has  not  so  undisturbed  an 
indulgence  in  his  humours  as  I  had  imagined;  but  has  been 
repeatedly  thwarted  of  late,  and  has  suffered  a  kind  of  well- 
meaning  persecution  from  a  Mr.  Faddy,  an  old  gentleman  of 
some  weight,  at  least  of  purse,  who  has  recently  moved  into 
the  neighbourhood.  He  is  a  worthy  and  substantial  manufac- 
turer, who,  having  accumulated  a  large  fortune  by  dint  of 
Bteam-engines  and  spinning-jennies,  has  retired  from  business, 
and  set  up  for  a  country  gentleman.  He  has  taken  an  old 
country-seat,  and  refitted  it ;  and  painted  and  plastered  it,  until 
it  looks  not  unlike  his  own  manufactory.  He  has  been  par- 
ticularly careful  in  mending  the  walls  and  hedges,  and  putting 
up  notices  of  spring-guns  and  man-traps  in  every  part  of  his 
premises.  Indeed,  he  shows  great  jealousy  about  his  territorial 
rights,  having  stopped  up  a  footpath  that  led  across  his  fields, 
and  given  warning,  in  staring  letters,  that  whoever  was  found 
trespassing  on  those  grounds  would  be  prosecuted  with  the 
utmost  rigour  of  the  law.  He  has  brought  into  the  country 
with  him  all  the  practical  maxims  of  town,  and  the  bustling 
habits  of  business;  and  is  one  of  those  sensible,  useful,  prosing, 
troublesome,  intolerable  old  gentlemen,  that  go  about  wearying 
and  worrying  society  with  excellent  plans  for  public  utility. 

He  is  very  much  disposed  to  be  on  intimate  terms  with  the 
Squire,  and  calls  on  him  every  now  and  then,  with  some  pro- 
ject for  the  good  of  the  neighbourhood,  which  happens  to  run 
diametrically  opposite  to  some  one  or  other  of  the  Squire's 
peculiar  notions;  but  which  is  "too  sensible  a  measure"  to  be 
openly  opposed.  He  has  annoyed  him  excessively,  by  enforc- 
ing the  vagrant  laws ;  persecuting  the  gipsies,  and  endeavour- 
ing to  suppress  country  wakes  and  holiday  games ;  which  he 
considers  great  nuisances,  and  reprobates  as  causes  of  the  dead- 
ly sin  of  idleness, 


ENGLISH  GRAVITY.  178 

There  is  evidently  in  all  this  a  little  of  the  ostentation  of  newly- 
acquired  consequence ;  the  tradesman  is  gradually  swelling  into 
the  aristocrat ;  and  he  begins  to  grow  excessively  intolerant  of 
every  thing  that  is  not  genteel.  He  has  a  great  deal  to  say 
about  "the  Common  people;"  talks  much  of  his  park,  his  pre- 
serves, and  the  necessity  of  enforcing  the  game-laws  more 
etrictly;  and  makes  frequent  use  of  the  phrase,  "the  gentry 
of  the  neighbourhood." 

He  came  to  the  Hall  lately,  with  a  face  full  of  business,  that 
he  and  the  Squire,  to  use  his  own  words,  "might  lay  their 
heads  together,"  to  hit  upon  some  mode  of  putting  a  stop  to  the 
frolicking  at  the  village  on  the  approaching  May-day.  It 
drew,  he  said,  idle  people  together  from  all  parts  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, who  spent  the  day  fiddling,  dancing,  and  carousing, 
instead  of  staying  at  home  to  work  for  their  families. 

Now,  as  the  Squire,  unluckily,  is  at  the  bottom  of  these  May- 
day revels,  it  may  be  supposed  that  the  suggestions  of  the 
sagacious  Mr.  Faddy  were  not  received  with  the  best  grace  in 
the  world.  It  is  true,  the  old  gentleman  is  too  courteous  to 
show  any  temper  to  a  guest  in  his  own  house ;  but  no  sooner 
was  he  gone,  than  the  indignation  of  the  Squire  found  vent,  at 
having  his  poetical  cobwebs  invaded  by  this  buzzing,  blue- 
bottle fly  of  traffic.  In  his  warmth,  he  inveighed  against  the 
whole  race  of  manufacturers,  who,  I  found,  were  sore  dis- 
turbers of  his  comfort.  ' '  Sir, "  said  he,  with  emotion,  ' '  it  makes 
my  heart  bleed,  to  see  all  our  fine  streams  dammed  up,  and 
bestrode  by  cotton-mills ;  our  valleys  smoking  with  steam-en- 
gines, and  the  din  of  the  hammer  and  the  loom  scaring  away 
all  our  rural  delight.  What's  to  become  of  merry  old  England, 
when  its  manor-houses  are  all  turned  into  manufactories,  and 
its  sturdy  peasantry  into  pin-makers  and  stocking- weavers?  I 
have  looked  in  vain  for  merry  Sherwood,  and  all  the  green- 
wood haunts  of  Robin  Hood;  the  whole  country  is  covered 
with  manufacturing  towns.  I  have  stood  on  the  ruins  of  Dud- 
ley Castle,  and  looked  round,  with  an  aching  heart,  on  what 
were  once  its  feudal  domains  of  verdant  and  beautiful  coun- 
try. Sir,  I  beheld  a  mere  campus  phlegraB ;  a  region  of  fire ; 
reeking  with  coal-pits,  and  furnaces,  and  smelting-houses, 
vomiting  forth  flames  and  smoke.  The  pale  and  ghastly  peo- 
ple, toiling  among  vile  exhalations,  looked  more  like  demons 
than  human  beings;  the  clanking  wheels  and  engines,  seen 
through  the  murky  atmosphere,  looked  like  instruments  of 
torture  in  this  pandemonium.  What  is  to  become  of  the  coun- 


174  BRACEBRIDQE  HALL. 

try,  with  these  evils  rankling  in  its  very  core?  Sir,  these  manu- 
facturers will  be  the  ruin  of  our  rural  manners;  they  will 
destroy  the  national  character;  they  will  not  leave  materials 
for  a  single  line  of  poetry !" 

The  Squire  is  apt  to  wax  eloquent  on  such  themes ;  and  I 
could  hardly  help  smiling  at  this  whimsical  lamentation  over 
national  industry  and  public  improvement.  I  am  told,  how- 
ever, that  he  really  grieves  at  the  growing  spirit  of  trade, 
as  destroying  the  charm  of  life.  He  considers  every  new 
shorthand  mode  of  doing  things,  as  an  inroad  of  snug  sordid 
method ;  and  thinks  that  this  will  soon  become  a  mere  matter- 
of-fact  world,  where  life  will  be  reduced  to  a  mathematical  cal- 
culation of  conveniences,  and  every  thing  will  be  done  by 
steam. 

He  maintains,  also,  that  the  nation  has  declined  in  its  free 
and  joyous  spirit,  in  proportion  as  it  has  turned  its  attention  to 
commerce  and  manufactures;  and  that,  in  old  times,  when 
England  was  an  idler,  it  was  also  a  merrier  little  island.  In 
support  of  this  opinion,  he  adduces  the  frequency  and  splen- 
dour of  ancient  festivals  and  merry-makings,  and  the  hourly 
spirit  with  which  they  were  kept  up  by  all  classes  of  people. 
His  memory  is  stored  with  the  accounts  given  by  Stow,  in  his 
Survey  of  London,  of  the  holiday  revels  at  the  inns  of  court, 
the  Christmas  mummeries,  and  the  masquings  and  bonfires 
about  the  streets.  London,  he  says,  in  those  days,  resembled 
the  continental  citiet  in  its  picturesque  manners  and  amuse- 
ments. The  court  used  to  dance  after  dinner,  on  public  occa- 
sions. After  the  coronation  dinner  of  Richard  II.  for  example, 
the  king,  the  prelates,  the  nobles,  the  knights,  and  the  rest  of 
the  company,  danced  in  Westminster  Hall  to  the  music  of  the 
minstrels.  The  example  of  the  court  was  followed  by  the  mid- 
dling classes,  and  so  down  to  the  lowest,  and  the  whole  nation 
was  a  dancing,  jovial  nation.  He  quotes  a  lively  city  picture 
of  the  times,  given  by  Stow,  which  resembles  the  lively  scenes 
one  may  often  see  in  the  gay  city  of  Paris ;  for  he  tells  us  that  on 
holidays,  after  evening  prayers,  the  maidens  in  London  used  to 
assemble  before  the  door,  in  sight  of  their  masters  and  dames, 
and  while  one  played  on  a  timbrel,  the  others  danced  for  gar- 
lands, hanged  athwart  the  street. 

"Where  will  we  meet  with  such  merry  groups  now-a-days?" 
the  Squire  will  exclaim,  shaking  his  head  mournfully;— "and 
then  as  to  the  gayety  that  prevailed  in  dress  throughout  all 
ranks  of  society,  and  made  the  very  streets  so  fine  and  pictur- 


ENGLISH  GRAVITY.  175 

esque:  'I  have  myself,'  says  Gervaise  Markham,  'met  an  ordi- 
nary tapster  in  his  silk  stockings,  garters  deep  fringed  with 
gold  lace,  the  rest  of  his  apparel  suitable,  with  cloak  lined  with 
velvet  1 '  Nashe,  too,  who  wrote  in  1593,  exclaims  at  the  finery 
of  the  nation :  '  England,  the  player's  stage  of  gorgeous  attire, 
the  ape  of  all  nations'  superfluities,  the  continual  masquer  in 
outlandish  habiliments."' 

Such  are  a  few  of  the  authorities  quoted  by  the  Squire,  by 
way  of  contrasting  what  he  supposes  to  have  been  the  former 
vivacity  of  the  nation  with  its  present  monotonous  character. 
"John  Bull,"  he  will  say,  "was  then  a  gay  cavalier,  with  his 
sword  by  his  side  and  a  feather  in  his  cap ;  but  he  is  now  a  plod- 
ding citizen,  in  snuff-coloured  coat  and  gaiters." 

By  the  by,  there  really  appears  to  have  been  some  change  in 
the  national  character,  since  the  days  of  which  the  Squire  is  so 
fond  of  talking ;  those  days  when  this  little  island  acquired  its 
favourite  old  title  of  ' '  merry  England. "  This  may  be  attributed 
in  part  to  the  growing  hardships  of  the  times,  and  the  necessity 
of  turning  the  whole  attention  to  the  means  of  subsistence ;  but 
England's  gayest  customs  prevailed  at  times  when  her  common 
people  enjoyed  comparatively  few  of  the  comforts  and  conveni- 
ences that  they  do  at  present.  It  may  be  still  more  attributed 
to  the  universal  spirit  of  gain,  and  the  calculating  habits  that 
commerce  has  introduced;  but  I  am  inclined  to  attribute  it 
chiefly  to  the  gradual  increase  of  the  liberty  of  the  subject,  and 
the  growing  freedom  and  activity  of  opinion. 

A  free  people  are  apt  to  be  grave  and  thoughtful.  They  have 
high  and  important  matters  to  occupy  their  minds.  They  feel 
that  it  is  their  right,  their  interest,  and  their  duty,  to  mingle  in 
public  concerns,  and  to  watch  over  the  general  welfare.  The 
continual  exercise  of  the  mind  on  political  topics  gives  intenser 
habits  of  thinking,  and  a  more  serious  and  earnest  demeanour. 
A  nation  becomes  less  gay,  but  more  intellectually  active  and 
vigorous.  It  evinces  less  play  of  the  fancy,  but  more  power  of 
the  imagination ;  less  taste  and  elegance,  but  more  grandeur  of 
mind ;  less  animated  vivacity,  but  deeper  enthusiasm. 

It  is  when  men  are  shut  out  of  the  regions  of  manly  thought, 
by  a  despotic  government ;  when  every  grave  and  lofty  theme 
is  rendered  perilous  to  discussion  and  almost  to  reflection ;  it  ia 
then  that  they  turn  to  the  safer  occupations  of  taste  and  amuse- 
ment; trifles  rise  to  importance,  and  occupy  the  craving  ac- 
tivity of  intellect.  No  being  is  more  void  of  care  and  reflection 
than  the  slave;  none  dances  more  gayly,  in  his  intervals  of 


176  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

labour;  but  make  him  free,  give  him  rights  and  interests  to 
guard,  and  he  becomes  thoughtful  and  laborious. 

The  French  are  a  gayer  people  than  the  English.  Why? 
Partly  from  temperament,  perhaps ;  but  greatly  because  they 
have  been  accustomed  to  governments  which  surrounded  tb,e, 
free  exercise  of  thought  with  danger,  and  where  he  only  woS 
safe  who  shut  his  eyes  and  ears  to  public  events,  and  enjoyed 
the  passing  pleasure  of  the  day.  Within  late  years,  they  have 
had  more  opportunity  of  exercising  their  minds;  and  within 
late  years,  the  national  character  has  essentially  changed. 
Never  did  the  French  enjoy  such  a  degree  of  freedom  as  they 
do  at  this  moment ;  and  at  this  moment  the  French  are  com- 
paratively a  grave  people. 


GIPSIES. 

What's  that  to  absolute  freedom;  such  as  the  very  beggars  have;  to  feast  and 
revel  here  to-day,  and  yonder  to-morrow;  next  day  where  they  please;  and  so  on 
still,  the  whole  country  or  kingdom  over?  There's  liberty:  the  birds  of  the  air  can 
take  no  more. — Jovial  Crete. 

SINCE  the  meeting  with  the  gipsies,  which  I  have  related  in 
a  former  paper,  I  have  observed  several  of  them  haunting  the 
purlieus  of  the  Hall,  in  spite  of  a  positive  interdiction  of  the 
Squire.  They  are  part  of  a  gang  that  has  long  kept  about  this 
neighbourhood,  to  the  great  annoyance  of  the  farmers,  whose 
poultry-yards  often  suffer  from  their  nocturnal  invasions. 
They  are,  however,  in  some  measure  patronized  by  the  Squire, 
who  considers  the  race  as  belonging  to  the  good  old  times; 
which,  to  confess  the  private  truth,  seem  to  have  abounded 
with  good-for-nothing  characters. 

This  roving  crew  is  called  "Starlight  Tom's  Gang,"  from  the 
name  of  its  chieftain,  a  notorious  poacher.  I  have  heard  re- 
peatedly of  the  misdeeds  of  this  "minion  of  the  moon;"  for 
every  midnight  depredation  that  takes  place  in  park,  or  fold, 
or  farm-yard,  is  laid  to  his  charge.  Starlight  Tom,  in  fact, 
answers  to  his  name ;  he  seems  to  walk  in  darkness,  and,  like  a 
fox,  to  be  traced  in  the  morning  by  the  mischief  he  has  done. 
He  reminds  me  of  that  fearful  personage  in  the  nursery  rhyme: 

Who  goes  round  the  house  at  night? 

None  but  bloody  Tom : 
Who  steals  all  the  sheep  at  night? 

None  but  one  by  one ! 


177 

[n  shdrt,  Starlight  Tom  is  the  scapegoat  of  the  neighbourhood, 
but  so  cunning  and  adroit,  that  there  is  no  detecting  him.  Old 
Christy  and  the  game-keeper  have  watched  many  a  night,  in 
hopes  of  entrapping  him ;  and  Christy  often  patrols  the  park 
with  his  dogs,  for  the  purpose,  but  all  in  vain.  It  is  said  that 
the  Squire  winks  hard  at  his  misdeeds,  having  an  indulgent 
feeling  towards  the  vagabond,  because  of  his  being  very  expert 
xt  all  kinds  of  games,  a  great  shot  with  the  cross-bow,  and  the 
best  morris-dancer  in  the  country. 

The  Squire  also  suffers  the  gang  to  lurk  unmolested  about 
the  skirts  of  his  estate,  on  condition  that  they  do  not  come 
about  the  house.  The  approaching  wedding,  however,  has 
made  a  kind  of  Saturnalia  at  the  Hall,  and  has  caused  a  sus- 
pension of  all  sober  rule.  It  has  produced  a  great  sensation 
throughout  the  female  part  of  the  household ;  not  a  housemaid 
but  dreams  of  wedding  favours,  and  has  a  husband  running  in 
tier  head.  Such  a  time  is  a  harvest  for  the  gipsies :  there  is  a 
public  footpath  leading  across  one  part  of  the  park,  by  which 
they  have  free  ingress,  and  they  are  continually  hovering 
about  the  grounds,  telling  the  servant-girls'  fortunes,  or  getting 
smuggled  in  to  the  young  ladies. 

I  believe  the  Oxonian  amuses  himself  very  much  by  furnish- 
ing them  with  hints  in  private,  and  bewildering  all  the  weak 
brains  in  the  house  with  their  wonderful  revelations.  The 
general  certainly  was  very  much  astonished  by  the  communi- 
cations made  to  him  the  other  evening  by  the  gipsy  girl :  he 
kept  a  wary  silence  towards  us  on  the  subject,  and  affected  to 
treat  it  lightly ;  but  I  have  noticed  that  he  has  since  redoubled 
his  attentions  to  Lady  Lillycraft  and  her  dogs. 

I  have  seen  also  Phoebe  Wilkins,  the  housekeeper's  pretty 
md  love-sick  niece,  holding  a  long  conference  with  one  of  these 
j\d  sibyls  behind  a  large  tree  in  the  avenue,  and  often  looking 
round  to  see  that  she  was  not  observed.  I  make  no  doubt  that 
^he  was  endeavouring  to  get  some  favourable  augury  about  the 
result  of  her  love-quarrel  with  young  Eeady-Money,  as  oracles 
have  always  been  more  consulted  on  love  affairs  than  upon 
any  thing  else.  I  fear,  however,  that  in  this  instance  the  re- 
sponse was  not  so  favourable  as  usual ;  for  I  perceived  poor 
Phoebe  returning  pensively  towards  the  house,  her  head  hang- 
ing down,  her  hat  in  her  hand,  and  the  riband  trailing  along 
the  ground. 

At  another  time,  as  I  turned  a  corner  of  a  terrace,  at  the 
bottom  of  the  garden,  just  by  a  clump  of  trees,  and  a  large 


178  BEACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

stone  urn,  I  came  upon  a  bevy  of  the  young  girls  of  the  family, 
attended  by  this  same  Phoebe  Wilkins.  I  was  at  a  loss  to 
comprehend  the  meaning  of  their  blushing  and  giggling,  and 
their  apparent  agitation,  until  I  saw  the  red  cloak  of  a  gipsy 
vanishing  among  the  shrubbery.  A  few  moments  after,  I 
caught  sight  of  Master  Simon  and  the  Oxonion  stealing  along 
ono  of  the  walks  of  the  garden,  chuckling  and  laughing  at  their 
successful  waggery ;  having  evidently  put  the  gipsy  up  to  the 
thing,  and  instructed  her  what  to  say. 

After  all,  there  is  something  strangely  pleasing  in  these  tam- 
perings  with  the  future,  even  where  we  are  convinced  of  the 
fallacy  of  the  prediction.  It  is  singular  how  willingly  the 
mind  will  half  deceive  itself,  and  with  what  a  degree  of  awe 
we  will  listen  to  these  babblers  about  futurity.  For  my  part, 
I  cannot  feel  angry  with  these  poor  vagabonds,  that  seek  to 
deceive  us  into  bright  hopes  and  expectations.  I  have  always 
been  something  of  a  castle-builder,  and  have  found  my  liveliest 
pleasures  to  arise  from  the  illusions  which  fancy  has  cast  over 
commonplace  realities.  As  I  get  on  in  life,  I  find  it  more  diffi- 
cult to  deceive  myself  in  this  delightful  manner ;  and  I  should 
be  thankful  to  any  prophet,  however  false,  that  would  conjure 
the  clouds  which  hang  over  futurity  into  palaces,  and  all  its 
doubtful  regions  into  fairy-land. 

The  Squire,  who,  as  I  have  observed,  has  a  private  good-will 
towards  gipsies,  has  suffered  considerable  annoyance  on  their 
account.  Not  that  they  requite  his  indulgence  with  ingrati- 
tude, for  they  do  not  depredate  very  flagrantly  on  his  estate ; 
but  because  their  pilferings  and  misdeeds  occasion  loud  mur- 
murs in  the  village.  I  can  readily  understand  the  old  gentle- 
man's humour  on  this  point ;  I  have  a  great  toleration  for  all 
kinds  of  vagrant  sunshiny  existence,  and  must  confess  I  take  a 
pleasure  in  observing  the  ways  of  gipsies.  The  English,  who 
are  accustomed  to  them  from  childhood,  and  often  suffer  from 
their  petty  depredations,  consider  them  as  mere  nuisances; 
but  I  have  been  very  much  struck  with  their  peculiarities.  I 
like  to  behold  their  clear  olive  complexions,  their  romantic 
black  eyes,  their  raven  locks,  their  lithe,  slender  figures ;  and 
hear  them  in  low  silver  tones  dealing  forth  magnificent  prom- 
ises of  honours  and  estates,  of  world's  wealth,  and  ladies'  love. 

Their  mode  of  life,  too,  has  something  in  it  very  fanciful  and 
picturesque.  They  are  the  free  denizens  of  nature,  and  main- 
tain a  primitive  independence,  in  spite  of  law  and  gospel ;  of 
county  gaols  and  country  magistrates.  It  is  curious  to  see  this 


GIPSIES.  179 

Obstinate  adherence  to  the  wild,  unsettled  habits  of  savage  life 
transmitted  from  generation  to  generation,  and  preserved  in 
the  midst  of  one  of  the  most  cultivated,  populous,  and  sys- 
tematic countries  in  the  world.  They  are  totally  distinct  from, 
the  busy,  thrifty  people  about  them.  They  seem  to  be,  like 
the  Indians  of  America,  either  above  or  below  the  ordinary 
cares  and  anxieties  of  mankind.  Heedless  of  power,  of  honours, 
of  wealth ;  and  indifferent  to  the  fluctuations  of  times ;  the  rise 
or  fall  of  grain,  or  stock,  or  empires,  they  seem  to  laugh  at  the 
toiling,  fretting  world  around  them,  and  to  live  according  to 
the  philosophy  of  the  old  song: 

"  Who  would  ambition  shun, 
And  loves  to  lie  i'  the  sun, 
Seeking  the  food  he  eats, 
And  pleased  with  what  he  gets, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither; 

Here  shall  he  see 

No  enemy, 
But  winter  and  rough  weather." 

In  this  way,  they  wander  from  county  to  county;  keeping 
about  the  purlieus  of  villages,  or  in  plenteous  neighbourhoods, 
where  there  are  fat  farms  and  rich  country-seats.  Their  en- 
campments are  generally  made  in  some  beautiful  spot — either 
a  green  shady  nook  of  a  road ;  or  on  the  border  of  a  common, 
under  a  sheltering  hedge ;  or  on  the  skirts  of  a  fine  spreading 
wood.  They  are  always  to  be  found  lurking  about  fairs,  and 
races,  and  rustic  gatherings,  wherever  there  is  pleasure,  and 
throng,  and  idleness.  They  are  the  oracles  of  milk-maids  and 
simple  serving-girls ;  and  sometimes  have  even  the  honour  of 
perusing  the  white  hands  of  gentlemen's  daughters,  when 
rambling  about  their  fathers'  grounds.  They  are  the  bane  of 
good  housewives  and  thrifty  farmers,  and  odious  in  the  eyes 
of  country  justices ;  but,  like  all  other  vagabond  beings,  they 
have  something  to  commend  them  to  the  fancy.  They  are 
among  the  last  traces,  in  these  matter-of-fact  days,  of  the 
motley  population  of  former  times ;  and  are  whimsically  asso- 
ciated in  my  mind  with  fairies  and  witches,  Robin  Goodfellow, 
Robin  Hood,  and  the  other  fantastical  personages  of  poetry. 


180  BRACEBRIDQE  HALL 


MAY-DAY  CUSTOMS. 

Happy  the  age,  and  harmless  were  the  dayes, 

(For  then  true  love  and  amity  was  found,) 
When  every  village  did  a  May-pole  raise, 

And  Whir  -mi  ales  and  May -games  did  abound: 
And  all  the  lusty  yonkers  in  a  rout, 
With  merry  lasses  daunc'd  the  rod  about, 
Then  friendship  to  their  banquets  bid  the  guest*, 
And  poore  men  far'd  the  better  for  their  feasts. 

— PASQUIL'S  Palinodia. 

THE  month  of  April  has  nearly  passed  away,  and  we  are  fast 
approaching  that  poetical  day,  which  was  considered,  in  old 
times,  as  the  boundary  that  parted  the  frontiers  of  winter  and 
summer.  With  all  its  caprices,  however,  I  like  the  mouth  of 
April.  I  like  these  laughing  and  crying  days,  when  sun  and 
shade  seem  to  run  in  billows  over  the  landscape.  I  like  to  see 
the  sudden  shower  coursing  over  the  meadow,  and  giving  all 
nature  a  greener  smile ;  and  the  bright  sunbeams  chasing  the 
flying  cloud,  and  turning  all  its  drops  into  diamonds. 

I  was  enjoying  a  morning  of  the  kind,  in  company  with  the 
Squire,  in  one  of  the  finest  parts  of  the  park.  We  were  skirt- 
ing a  beautiful  grove,  and  he  was  giving  me  a  kind  of  bio- 
graphical account  of  several  of  his  favourite  forest  trees,  when 
he  heard  the  strokes  of  an  axe  from  the  midst  of  a  thick  copse. 
The  Squire  paused  and  listened,  with  manifest  signs  of  uneasi- 
ness. He  turned  his  steps  in  the  direction  of  the  sound.  The 
strokes  grew  louder  and  louder  as  we  advanced ;  there  was 
evidently  a  vigorous  arm  wielding  the  axe.  The  Squire  quick- 
ened his  pace,  but  in  vain  ;  a  loud  crack,  and  a  succeeding 
crash,  told  that  the  mischief  had  been  done,  and  some  child  of 
the  forest  laid  low.  When  we  came  to  the  place,  we  found 
Master  Simon  and  several  others  standing  about  a  tall  and 
beautifully  straight  young  tree,  which  had  just  been  felled. 

The  Squire,  though  a  man  of  most  harmonious  dispositions, 
was  completely  put  out  of  tune  by  this  circumstance.  He  felt 
like  a  monarch  witnessing  the  murder  of  one  of  his  liege  sub- 
jects, and  demanded,  with  some  asperity,  the  meaning  of  the 
outrage.  It  turned  out  to  be  an  affair  of  Master  Simon's,  who 
had  selected  the  tree,  from  its  height  and  straightness,  for  a 
May-pole,  the  old  one  which  stood  on  the  village  green  being  un- 
fit for  farther  service.  If  any  tiling  could  have  soothed  the  ire 
of  niy  worthy  host,  it  would  have  been  the  reflection  that  his 


MAT-DAT  CUSTOMS.  181 

tree  hai  fallen  in  so  good  a  cause  ;  and  I  saw  that  there  was  a 
great  struggle  between  his  fondness  for  his  groves,  and  his 
devotion  to  May-day.  He  could  not  contemplate  the  prostrate 
tree,  however,  without  indulging  in  lamentation,  and  making 
a  kind  of  funeral  eulogy,  like  Mark  Antony  over  the  body  of 
Caesar  ;  and  he  forbade  that  any  tree  should  thenceforward  be 
cut  down  on  his  estate,  without  a  warrant  from  himself  ;  being 
determined,  he  said,  to  hold  the  sovereign  power  of  life  and 
death  in  his  own  hands. 

This  mention  of  the  May-pole  struck  my  attention,  and  I  in- 
quired whether  the  old  customs  connected  with  it  were  really 
kept  up  in  this  part  of  the  country.  The  Squire  shook  his 
head  mournfully  ;  and  I  found  I  had  touched  on  one  of  his 
tender  points,  for  he  grew  quite  melancholy  in  bewailing  the 
total  decline  of  old  May-day.  Though  it  is  regularly  celebrated 
in  the  neighbouring  village,  yet  it  has  been  merely  resuscitated 
by  the  worthy  Squire,  and  is  kept  up  in  a  forced  state  of  exist- 
ence at  his  expense.  He  meets  with  continual  discourage- 
ments ;  and  finds  great  difficulty  in  getting  the  country  bump- 
kins to  play  their  parts  tolerably.  He  manages  to  have  every 
year  a  "  Queen  of  the  May  ; "  but  as  to  Robin  Hood,  Friar  Tuck, 
the  Dragon,  the  Hobby-Horse,  and  all  the  other  motley  crew 
that  used  to  enliven  the  day  with  their  mummery,  he  has  not 
ventui'ed  to  introduce  them. 

Still  I  looked  forward  with  some  interest  to  the  promised 
shadow  of  old  May-day,  even  though  it  be  but  a  shadow  ;  and 
I  feel  more  and  more  pleased  with  the  whimsical  yet  harmless 
hobby  of  my  host,  which  is  surrounding  him  with  agreeable 
associations,  and  making  a  little  world  of  poetry  about  him. 
Brought  up,  as  I  have  been,  in  a  new  country,  I  may  appre- 
ciate too  highly  the  faint  vestiges  of  ancient  customs  which  I 
now  and  then  meet  with,  and  the  interest  I  express  in  them 
may  provoke  a  smile  from  those  who  are  negligently  suffering 
them  to  pass  away.  But  with  whatever  indifference  they  may 
be  regarded  by  those  "  to  the  manner  born,"  yet  in  my  mind 
the  lingering  flavour  of  them  imparts  a  charm  to  rustic  life, 
which  nothing  else  could  readily  supply. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  delight  I  felt  on  first  seeing  a  May- 
pole. It  was  on  the  banks  of  the  Dee,  close  by  the  picturesque 
old  bridge  that  stretches  across  the  river  from  the  quaint  little 
city  of  Chester.  I  had  already  been  carried  back  into  former 
days,  by  the  antiquities  of  that  venerable  place ;  the  examina- 
tion of  which  is  equal  to  turning  over  the  pages  of  a  black-let- 


182  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

ter  volume,  or  gazing  on  the  pictures  in  Froissart.  The  May- 
pole on  the  margin  of  that  poetic  stream  completed  the  illusion. 
My  fancy  adorned  it  with  wreaths  of  flowers,  and  peopled  the 
green  bank  with  all  the  dancing  revelry  of  May -day.  The 
mere  sight  of  this  May -pole  gave  a  glow  to  my  feelings,  and 
spread  a  charm  over  the  country  for  the  rest  of  the  day ;  and 
as  I  traversed  a  part  of  the  fair  plain  of  Cheshire,  and  the 
beautiful  borders  of  Wales,  and  looked  from  among  swelling 
hills  down  a  long  green  valley,  through  which  "the  Deva 
wound  its  wizard  stream,"  my  imagination  turned  all  into  a 
perfect  Arcadia. 

Whether  it  be  owing  to  such  poetical  associations  early  in- 
stilled into  my  mind,  or  whether  there  is,  as  it  were,  a  sym- 
pathetic revival  and  budding  forth  of  the  feelings  at  this  sea- 
son, certain  it  is,  that  I  always  experience,  wherever  I  may  be 
placed,  a  delightful  expansion  of  the  heart  at  the  return  of 
May.  It  is  said  that  birds  about  this  time  will  become  restless 
in  their  cages,  as  if  instinct  with  the  season,  conscious  of  the 
revelry  that  is  going  on  in  the  groves,  and  impatient  to  break 
from  their  bondage,  and  join  in  the  jubilee  of  the  year.  In 
like  manner  I  have  felt  myself  excited,  even  in  the  midst  of 
the  metropolis,  when  the  windows,  which  had  been  churlislily 
closed  all  winter,  were  again  thrown  open  to  receive  the  balmy 
breath  of  May ;  when  the  sweets  of  the  country  were  breathed 
into  the  town,  and  flowers  were  cried  about  the  streets.  I  have 
considered  the  treasures  of  flowers  thus  poured  in,  as  so  many 
missives  from  nature,  inviting  us  forth  to  enjoy  the  virgin 
beauty  of  the  year,  before  its  freshness  is  exhaled  by  the  heats 
of  sunny  summer. 

One  can  readily  imagine  what  a  gay  scene  it  must  have  been 
in  jolly  old  London,  when  the  doors  were  decorated  with 
flowering  branches,  when  every  hat  was  decked  with  haw- 
thorn, and  Robin  Hood,  Friar  Tuck,  Maid  Marian,  the  morris- 
dancers,  and  all  the  other  fantastic  masks  and  revellers,  were 
performing  their  antics  about  the  May-pole  in  every  part  of 
the  city. 

I  am  not  a  bigoted  admirer  of  old  times  and  old  customs, 
merely  because  of  their  antiquity:  but  while  I  rejoice  in  the 
decline  of  many  of  the  rude  usages  and  coarse  amusements  of 
former  days,  I  cannot  but  regret  that  this  innocent  and  fanci- 
ful festival  has  fallen  into  disuse.  It  seemed  appropriate  to 
this  verdant  and  pastoral  country,  and  calculated  to  light  up 
the  too-pervading  gravity  of  the  nation.  I  value  every  cus- 


VILLAGE  WORTHIES. 

torn  that  tends  to  infuse  poetical  feeling  into  the  common  peo- 
ple, and  to  sweeten  and  soften  the  rudeness  of  rustic  manners, 
without  destroying  their  simplicity.  Indeed,  it  is  to  the  decline 
of  this  happy  simplicity,  that  the  decline  of  this  custom  may 
be  traced ;  and  the  rural  dance  on  the  green,  and  the  homely 
May-day  pageant,  have  gradually  disappeared,  in  proportion  as 
the  peasantry  have  become  expensive  and  artificial  in  their 
pleasures,  and  too  knowing  for  simple  enjoyment 

Some  attempts,  the  Squire  informs  me,  have  been  made  of 
late  years,  by  men  of  both  taste  and  learning,  to  rally  back  the 
popular  feeling  to  these  standards  of  primitive  simplicity ;  but 
the  tune  has  gone  by,  the  feeling  has  become  chilled  by  habits 
of  gain  and  traffic,  the  country  apes  the  manners  taid  amuse- 
ments of  the  town,  and  little  is  heard  of  May-day  at  present, 
except  from  the  lamentations  of  authors,  who  sigh  axter  it  from 
among  the  brick  walls  of  the  city : 

"  For  O,  for  O,  the  Hobby-Horse  is  forgot." 


VILLAGE  WORTHIES. 

Nay,  I  tell  you,  I  am  so  well  beloved  in  our  town,  that  not  the  worst  dog  in  the 
street  will  hurt  my  little  finger.— Collier  of  Croydon. 

As  the  neighbouring  village  is  one  of  those  out-of-the-way, 
but  gossiping,  little  places  where  a  small  matter  makes  a  great 
stir,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  approach  of  a  festival  like 
that  of  May-day  can  be  regarded  with  indifference,  especially 
since  it  is  made  a  matter  of  such  moment  by  the  great  folks  at 
the  Hall.  Master  Simon,  who  is  the  faithful  factotum  of  the 
worthy  Squire,  and  jumps  with  his  humour  in  every  thing,  is 
frequent  just  now  in  his  visits  to  the  village,  to  give  directions 
for  the  impending  fete ;  and  as  I  have  taken  the  liberty  occa- 
sionally of  accompanying  him,  I  have  been  enabled  to  get  some 
insight  into  the  characters  and  internal  politics  of  this  very 
sagacious  little  community. 

Master  Simon  is  in  fact  the  Csesar  of  the  village.  It  is  true 
the  Squire  is  the  protecting  power,  but  his  factotum  is  the 
active  and  busy  agent.  He  intermeddles  in  all  its  concerns,  is 
acquainted  with  all  the  inhabitants  and  their  domestic  history, 
gives  counsel  to  the  old  folks  in  their  business  matters,  and  the 


184  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

young  folks  in  their  love  affairs,  and  enjoys  the  proud  satis- 
faction of  being  a  great  man  in  a  little  world. 

He  is  the  dispenser,  too,  of  the  Squire's  charity,  which  is 
bounteous;  and,  to  do  Master  Simon  justice,  he  performs  this 
part  of  his  functions  with  great  alacrity.  Indeed,  I  have  been 
entertained  with  the  mixture  of  bustle,  importance,  and  kind- 
heartedness  which  he  displays.  He  is  of  too  vivacious  a  tem- 
perament to  comfort  the  afflicted  by  sitting  down,  moping  and 
whining,  and  blowing  noses  in  concert;  but  goes  whisking 
about  like  a  sparrow,  chirping  consolation  into  every  hole  and 
corner  of  the  village.  I  have  seen  an  old  woman,  in  a  red  cloak, 
hold  him  for  half  an  hour  together  with  some  long  phthisical 
tale  of  distress,  which  Master  Simon  listened  to  with  many  a 
bob  of  the  head,  smack  of  his  dog- whip,  and  other  symptoms  of 
impatience,  though  he  afterwards  made  a  most  faithful  and 
circumstantial  report  of  the  case  to  the  Squire.  I  have  watched 
him,  too,  during  one  of  his  pop  visits  into  the  cottage  of  a 
superannuated  villager,  who  is  a  pensioner  of  the  Squire,  where 
he  fidgeted  about  the  room  without  sitting  down,  made  many 
excellent  off-hand  reflections  with  the  old  invalid,  who  was 
propped  up  in  his  chair,  about  the  shortness  of  life,  the  cer- 
tainty of  death,  ami  the  necessity  of  preparing  for  "that  awful 
change ;"  quoted  several  texts  of  scripture  very  incorrectly,  but 
much  to  the  edification  of  the  cottager's  wife ;  and  on  coming 
out,  pinched  the  daughter's  rosy  cheek,  and  wondered  what 
was  in  the  young  men  that  such  a  pretty  face  did  not  get  a 
husband. 

He  has  also  his  cabinet  counsellors  in  the  villa  2-0,  with  whom 
he  is  very  busy  just  now,  preparing  for  the  May -day  ceremonies. 
Among  these  is  the  village  tailor,  a  pale-faced  fellow,  that  plays 
the  clarionet  in  the  church  choir ;  and,  being  a  great  musical 
genius,  has  frequent  meetings  of  the  band  at  his  house,  where 
they  "  make  night  hideous"  by  their  concerts.  He  is,  in  conse- 
quence, high  in  favour  with  Master  Simon ;  and,  through  his 
influence,  has  the  making,  or  rather  marring,  of  all  the  liveries 
of  the  Hall;  which  generally  look  as  though  they  had  been  cut 
out  by  one  of  those  scientific  tailors  of  the  Flying  Island  of 
Laputa,  who  took  measure  of  their  customers  with  a  quadrant. 
The  tailor,  in  fact,  might  rise  to  be  one  of  the  moneyed  men  of 
the  village,  were  he  not  rather  too  prone  to  gossip,  and  keep 
holidays,  and  give  concerts,  and  blow  all  his  substance,  real 
and  personal,  through  his  clarionet ;  which  literally  keeps  him 
poor,  both  in  body  and  estate.  He  has  for  the  present  thrown 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER.  185 

by  all  his  regular  work,  and  suffered  the  breeches  of  the  village 
to  go  unmade  and  unmended,  while  he  is  occupied  in  making 
garlands  of  party-coloured  rags,  in  imitation  of  flowers,  for  the 
decoration  of  the  May -pole. 

Another  of  Master  Simon's  counsellors  is  the  apothecary,  a 
short  and  rather  fat  man,  with  a  pair  of  prominent  eyes,  that 
diverge  like  those  of  a  lobster.  He  is  the  village  wise  man; 
very  sententious,  and  full  of  profound  remarks  on  shallow 
subjects.  Master  Simon  often  quotes  his  sayings,  and  mentions 
him  as  rather  an  extraordinary  man ;  and  even  consults  him 
occasionally,  in  desperate  cases  of  the  dogs  and  horses.  Indeed, 
he  seems  to  have  been  overwhelmed  by  the  apothecary's  philo- 
sophy, which  is  exactly  one  observation  deep,  consisting  of 
indisputable  maxims,  such  as  may  be  gathered  from  the  mottoes 
of  tobacco-boxes.  I  had  a  specimen  of  his  philosophy,  in  my 
very  first  conversation  with  him ;  in  the  course  of  which  he 
observed,  with  great  solemnity  and  emphasis,  that  ' '  man  is  a 
compound  of  wisdom  and  folly ;"  upon  which  Master  Simon, 
who  had  hold  of  my  arm,  pressed  very  hard  upon  it,  and 
whispered  in  my  ear  "  That's  a  devilish  shrewd  remark !" 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER 

There  vdll  be  no  mosse  stick  to  the  stone  of  Sisiphus,  no  grasse  hang  on  the  heeles 
of  Mercury,  no  butter  cleave  on  the  bread  of  a  traveller.  For  as  the  eagle  at  every 
flight  loseth  a  feather,  which  maketh  her  baulcl  in  her  age,  so  the  traveller  in  every 
country  loseth  some  fleece,  which  maketh  him  a  beggar  in  his  youth,  by  buying 
that  for  a  pound  which  he  cannot  sell  again  for  a  penny— repentance.— LILLY'S 
Euphues. 

AMONG  the  worthies  of  the  village  that  enjoy  the  peculiar, 
confidence  of  Master  Simon,  is  one  who  has  struck  my  fancy  [ 
so  much  that  I  have  thought  him  worthy  of  a  separate  notice. 
It  is  Slingsby,  the  schoolmaster,  a  thin,  elderly  man,  rather 
threadbare  and  slovenly,  somewhat  indolent  in  manner,  and 
with  an  easy,  good-humoured  look,  not  often  met  with  in  his 
craft.    I  have  been  interested  in  his  favour  by  a  few  anecdotes 
which  I  have  picked  up  concerning  him. 

He  is  a  native  of  the  village,  and  was  a  contemporary  and 
playmate  of  Ready-Money  Jack  in  the  days  of  their  boyhood. 
Indeed,  they  carried  on  a  kind  of  league  of  mutual  good 
offices.  Slingsby  was  rather  puny,  and  withal  somewhat  of  9 


186  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

coward,  but  very  apt  at  his  learning;  Jack,  on  the  contrary, 
was  a  bully-boy  out  of  doors,  but  a  sad  laggard  at  his  books. 
Slingsby  helped  Jack,  therefore,  to  all  his  lessons ;  Jack  fought 
all  Slingsby 's  battles ;  and  they  were  inseparable  friends.  This 
mutual  kindness  continued  even  after  they  left  the  school, 
notwithstanding  the  dissimilarity  of  their  characters.  Jack 
took  to  ploughing  and  reaping,  and  prepared  himself  to  till  his 
paternal  acres ;  while  the  other  loitered  negligently  on  in  the 
path  of  learning,  until  he  penetrated  even  into  the  confines  of 
Latin  and  mathematics. 

In  an  unlucky  hour,  however,  he  took  to  reading  voyages 
and  travels,  and  was  smitten  with  a  desire  to  see  the  world. 
This  desire  increased  upon  him  as  he  grew  up ;  so,  early  one 
bright,  sunny  morning,  he  put  all  his  effects  in  a  knapsack, 
slung  it  on  his  back,  took  staff  in  hand,  and  called  in  his  way  to 
take  leave  of  his  early  schoolmate.  Jack  was  just  going  out 
with  the  plough :  the  friends  shook  hands  over  the  farm-house 
gate;  Jack  drove  his  team  a-field,  and  Slingsby  whistled, 
"  Over  the  hills  and  far  away,"  and  sallied  forth  gayly  to  ;'  seek 
his  fortune." 

Years  and  years  passed  by,  and  young  Tom  Slingsby  was 
forgotten ;  when,  one  mellow  Sunday  af teraoon  in  autumn,  a 
thin  man,  somewhat  advanced  in  life,  with  a  coat  out  at  elbows, 
a  pair  of  old  nankeen  gaiters,  and  a  few  things  tied  in  a  hand- 
kerchief and  slung  on  the  end  of  a  stick,  was  seen  loitering 
through  the  village.  He  appeared  to  regard  several  houses 
attentively,  to  peer  into  the  windows  that  were  open,  to  eye 
the  villagers  wistfully  as  they  returned  from  church,  and  then 
to  pass  some  time  in  the  church-yard  reading  the  tombstones. 

At  length  he  found  his  way  to  the  farm-house  of  Ready- 
Money  Jack,  but  paused  ere  he  attempted  the  wicket ;  contem- 
plating the  picture  of  substantial  independence  before  him.  In 
the  porch  of  the  house  sat  Ready-Money  Jack,  in  his  Sunday 
dress ;  with  his  hat  upon  his  head,  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and 
his  tankard  before  him,  the  monarch  of  all  he  surveyed. 
Beside  him  lay  his  fat  house-dog.  The  varied  sounds  of  poul- 
try were  heard  from  the  well-stocked  farm-yard;  the  bees 
hummed  from  their  hives  in  the  garden ;  the  cattled  lowed  in 
the  rich  meadow ;  while  the  crammed  barns  and  ample  stacks 
bore  proof  of  an  abundant  harvest. 

The  stranger  opened  the  gate  and  advanced  dubiously  toward 
the  house.  The  mastiff  growled  at  the  sight  of  the  suspicious- 
looking  intruder ;  but  was  immediately  silenced  by  his  master, 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER.  187 

who,  taking  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  awaited  with  inquiring 
aspect  the  address  of  this  equivocal  personage.  The  stranger 
eyed  old  Jack  for  a  moment,  so  portly  in  his  dimensions,  and 
decked  out  in  gorgeous  apparel;  then  cast  a  glance  upon  his 
own  thread-bare  and  starveling  condition,  and  the  scanty 
bundle  which  he  held  in  his  hand;  then  giving  his  shrunk 
waistcoat  a  twitch  to  make  it  meet  its  receding  waistband,* 
and  casting  another  look,  hah0  sad,  half  humorous,  at  the  sturdy 
peoman,  "  I  suppose,"  said  he,  "Mr.  Tibbets,  you  have  forgot 
old  times  and  old  playmates." 

The  latter  gazed  at  him  with  scrutinizing  look,  but  acknowl- 
edged that  he  had  no  recollection  of  him. 

"Like  enough,  like  enough,"  said  the  stranger,  "every  body 
seems  to  have  forgotten  poor  Slingsby !" 

"  Why,  no,  sure!  it  can't  be  Tom  Slingsby?" 

"Yes,  but  it  is,  though!"  replied  the  stranger,  shaking  his 
head. 

Eeady-Money  Jack  was  on  his  feet  in  a  twinkling,  thrust  out 
his  hand,  gave  his  ancient  crony  the  gripe  of  a  giant,  and 
slapping  the  other  hand  on  a  bench,  "Sit  down  there,''  cried  he, 
"Tom  Slingsby!" 

A  long  conversation  ensued  about  old  times,  while  Slingsby 
was  regaled  with  the  best  cheer  that  the  farm-house  afforded  ; 
for  he  was  hungry  as  well  as  wayworn,  and  had  the  keen 
appetite  of  a  poor  pedestrian.  The  early  playmates  then 
talked  over  their  subsequent  lives  and  adventures.  Jack 
had  but  little  to  relate,  and  was  never  good  at  a  long  story. 
A  prosperous  life,  passed  at  home,  has  little  incident  for  narra- 
tive ;  it  is  only  poor  devils,  that  are  tossed  about  the  world, 
that  are  the  true  heroes  of  story.  Jack  had  stuck  by  tlie 
paternal  farm,  followed  the  same  plough  that  his  forefathers 
had  driven,  and  had  waxed  richer  and  richer  as  he  grew  older. 
As  to  Tom  Slingsby,  he  was  an  exemplification  of  the  old 
proverb,  "a  rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss."  He  had  sought 
his  fortune  about  the  world,  without  ever  finding  it,  being  a 
thing  oftener  found  at  home  than  abroad.  He  had  been  in  all 
kinds  of  situations,  and  had  learned  a  dozen  different  modes 
of  making  a  living;  but  had  found  his  way  back  to  his  native 
village  rather  poorer  than  when  he  left  it,  his  knapsack  having 
dwindled  down  to  a  scanty  bundle. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  the  Squire  was  passing  by  the  farm- 
house that  very  evening,  and  called  there,  as  is  often  hie 
custom.  He  found  the  two  schoolmates  still  gossiping  in  the 


188  BRACEBR1DGE  UALL. 

porch,  and  according  to  the  good  old  Scottish  song,  "taking  a 
cup  of  kindness  yet,  for  auld  lang  syne."  The  Squire  was 
struck  by  the  contrast  in  appearance  and  fortunes  of  these 
early  playmates.  Ready-Money  Jack,  seated  in  lordly  state, 
surrounded  by  the  good  things  of  this  life,  with  golden  guineas 
hanging  to  his  very  watch-chain,  and  the  poor  pilgrim 
Slingsby,  thin  as  a  weasel,  with  all  his  worldly  effects,  his 
bundle,  hat,  and  walking-staff,  lying  on  the  ground  beside 
him. 

The  good  Squire's  heart  warmed  towards  the  luckless  cosmo- 
polite, for  he  is  a  little  prone  to  like  such  half -vagrant  charac- 
ters. He  cast  about  in  his  mind  how  he  should  contrive  once 
more  to  anchor  Slingsby  in  his  native  village.  Honest  Jack 
had  already  offered  him  a  present  shelter  under  his  roof, 
in  spite  of  the  hints,  and  winks,  and  half  remonstraixvs 
of  the  shrewd  Dame  Tibbets;  but  how  to  provide  for  his 
permanent  maintenance,  was  the  question.  Luckily  the  Squire 
bethought  himself  that  the  village  school  was  without  a 
teacher.  A  little  further  conversation  convinced  him  that 
Slingsby  was  as  fit  for  that  as  for  any  thing  else,  and  in  a  day 
or  two  he  was  seen  swaying  the  rod  of  empire  in  the  very 
school-house  where  he  had  often  been  horsed  in  the  days  of  his 
boyhood. 

Here  he  has  remained  for  several  years,  and,  being  honoured 
by  the  countenance  of  the  Squire,  and  the  fast  friendship  of 
Mr.  Tibbets,  he  has  grown  into  much  importance  and  conside- 
ration in  the  village.  I  am  told,  however,  that  he  still  shows, 
now  and  then,  a  degree  of  restlessness,  and  a  disposition  to 
rove  abroad  again,  and  see  a  little  more  of  the  world ;  an  incli- 
nation which  seems  particularly  to  haunt  him  about  spring- 
time. There  is  nothing  so  difficult  to  conquer  as  the  vagrant 
humour,  when  once  it  has  been  fully  indulged. 

Since  I  have  heard  these  anecdotes  of  poor  Slingsby,  I  have 
more  than  once  mused  upon  the  picture  presented  by  him  and 
his  schoolmate,  Ready-Money  Jack,  on  their  coming  together 
again  after  so  long  a  separation.  It  is  difficult  to  determine 
between  lots  in  life,  where  each  one  is  attended  with  its  peculiar 
discontents.  He  who  never  leaves  his  home  repines  at  his 
monotonous  existence,  and  envies  the  traveller,  whose  life  is  a 
constant  tissue  of  wonder  and  adventure;  while  he  who  is 
tossed  about  the  world,  looks  back  with  many  a  sigh  to  the 
safe  and  quiet  shore  which  he  has  abandoned.  I  cannot  help 
thinking,  however,  that  the  man  that  stays  at  home,  and  cul- 


THE  SCHOOL.  189 

tivates  the  comforts  and  pleasures  daily  springing  up  around 
him,  stands  the  best  chance  for  happiness.  There  is  nothing  so 
fascinating  to  a  young  mind  as  the  idea  of  travelling ;  and  there 
is  very  witchcraft  in  the  old  phrase  found  in  every  nursery 
tale,  of  "going  to  seek  one's  fortune."  A  continual  change  of 
place,  and  change  of  object,  promises  a  continual  succession  of 
adventure  and  gratification  of  curiosity.  But  there  is  a  limit 
to  all  our  enjoyments,  and  every  desire  bears  its  death  in  its  very, 
gratification.  Curiosity  languishes  under  repeated  stimulants, 
novelties  cease  to  excite  surprise,  until  at  length  we  cannot 
wonder  even  at  a  miracle. 

He  who  has  sallied  forth  into  the  world,  like  poor  Slingsby, 
full  of  sunny  anticipations,  finds  too  soon  how  different  the  dis- 
tant scene  becomes  when  visited.  The  smooth  place  roughens 
as  he  approaches ;  the  wild  place  becomes  tame  and  barren ;  the 
fairy  tints  that  beguiled  him  on,  still  fly  to  the  distant  bill,  or 
gather  upon  the  land  he  has  left  behind ;  and  every  part  of  the 
landscape  seems  greener  than  the  spot  he  stands  on. 


THE  SCHOOL. 

But  to  come  down  from  great  men  and  higher  matters  to  my  little  children  and 
poor  school-house  again;  I  will,  God  willing,  go  forward  orderly,  as  I  purposed,  to 
instruct  children  and  young  men  both  for  learning  and  manners. — ROGER  ASCHAM. 

HAVING  given  the  reader  a  slight  sketch  of  the  village  school- 
master, he  may  be  curious  to  learn  something  concerning  his 
school.  As  the  Squire  takes  much  interest  in  the  education  of 
the  neighbouring  children,  he  put  into  the  hands  of  the  teacher, 
on  first  installing  him  in  office,  a  copy  of  Roger  Ascham's 
Schoolmaster,  and  advised  him,  moreover,  to  con  over  that 
portion  of  old  Peacham  which  treats  of  the  duty  of  masters, 
and  which  condemns  the  favourite  method  of  making  boys  wise 
by  flagellation. 

He  exhorted  Slingsby  not  to  break  down  or  depress  the  free 
spirit  of  the  boys,  by  harshness  and  slavish  fear,  but  to  lead 
them  freely  and  joyously  on  in  the  path  of  knowledge,  making 
it  pleasant  and  desirable  in  their  eyes.  He  wished  to  see  the 
youth  trained  up  in  the  manners  and  habitudes  of  the  peasantry 
of  the  good  old  times,  and  thus  to  lay  a  foundation  for  the 
accomplishment  of  his  favorite  object,  the  revival  of  old  English 


190  BRAcmmvnp.  HALL. 


customs  and  character.  He  recommended  that  all  the  ancient 
holidays  should  be  observed,  and  that  the  sports  of  the  boys,  in 
their  hours  of  play,  should  be  regulated  according  to  the 
standard  authorities  laid  down  in  Strutt,  a  copy  of  whose 
invaluable  work,  decorated  with  plates,  was  deposited  in  the 
school-house.  Above  all,  he  exhorted  the  pedagogue  to  abstain 
from  the  use  of  birch,  an  instrument  of  instruction  which  the 
good  Squire  regards  with  abhorrence,  as  fit  only  for  the  coer- 
cion of  brute  natures  that  cannot  be  reasoned  with. 

Mr.  Slingsby  has  followed  the  Squire's  instructions,  to  the 
best  of  his  disposition  and  abilities.  He  never  flogs  the  boys, 
because  he  is  too  eisy,  good-humoured  a  creature  to  inflict  p-iiu 
on  a  worm.  He  is  bountiful  in  holidays,  because  he  loves  holi- 
days himself,  and  has  a  sympathy  with  the  urchins'  impatience  ol 
confinement,  from  having  divers  times  experienced  its  irksome- 
ness  during  the  time  that  ho  was  seeing  the  world.  As  to 
sports  and  pastimes,  the  boys  are  f  aitlif  ully  exercised  in  all  that 
are  on  record,  quoits,  races,  prison-bars,  tipcat,  trap-ball,  bandy- 
ball,  wrestling,  leaping,  and  what  not.  The  only  misfortune 
is,  that  having  banished  the  birch,  honest  Slingsby  has  not 
studied  Roger  Ascham  sufficiently  to  find  out  a  substitute  ;  or 
rather,  he  has  not  the  management  in  his  nature  to  apply  one  ; 
his  school,  therefore,  though  one  of  the  happiest,  is  one  of  the 
most  unruly  in  the  country  ;  and  never  was  a  pedagogue  more 
liked,  or  less  heeded  by  his  disciples,  than  Slingsby. 

He  has  lately  taken  a  coadjutor  worthy  of  himself,  being 
another  stray  sheep  that  has  returned  to  the  village  fold. 
This  is  no  other  than  the  son  of  the  musical  tailor,  who  had 
bestowed  some  cost  upon  his  education,  hoping  to  see  him  one 
day  arrive  at  the  dignity  of  an  exciseman,  or  at  least  of  a  parish 
clerk.  The  lad  grew  up,  however,  as  idle  and  musical  as  lus 
father  ;  and,  being  captivated  by  the  drum  and  fife  of  a  recruit- 
ing party,  he  followed  them  off  to  the  army.  He  returned 
not  long  since,  out  of  money,  and  out  at  the  elbows,  the 
prodigal  son  of  the  village.  He  remained  for  some  time  loung- 
ing about  the  place  in  half-tattered  soldier's  dress,  with  a 
foraging-cap  on  one  side  of  his  head,  jerking  stones  across  the 
brook,  or  loitering  about  the  tavern-door,  a  burthen  to  his 
father,  ar.d  regarded  with  great  coldness  by  all  warm  house- 
holders. 

Something,  however,  drew  honest  Slingsby  towards  the 
youth.  It  might  be  the  kindness  he  bore  to  his  father,  who  is 
one  of  the  schoolmaster's  great  cronies;  it  might  be  that  secret 


THE  SCHOOL.  191 

sympathy  which  draws  insn  01  vagrant  propensities  towards 
each  other;  for  there  is  3ornething  truly  magnetic  in  the 
vagabond  feeling ;  or  it  might  be,  that  he  remembered  the  time 
when  he  himself  had  come  back,  like  this  youngster,  a  wreck, 
to  his  native  place  At  any  rate,  whatever  the  motive,  Slingsby 
drew  towards  the  youth.  They  had  many  conversations  in  the 
village  tap-room  about  foreign  parts  and  the  various  scenes  and 
places  they  had  witnessed  during  their  wayfaring  about  the 
world.  Tbo  more  Slingsby  talked  with  him,  the  more  he  found 
him  to  his  taste ;  and  finding  him  almost  as  learned  as  himself, 
he  forthwith  engaged  him  as  an  assistant,  or  usher,  in  the 
school.  Under  such  admirable  tuition,  the  school,  as  may  be 
supposed,  flourishes  apace ;  and  if  the  scholars  do  not  become 
versed  in  all  the  holiday  accomplishments  of  the  good  old  times, 
to  the  Squire's  heart's  content,  it  will  not  be  the  fault  of  their 
teachers.  The  prodigal  son  has  become  almost  as  popular 
among  the  boys  as  the  pedagogue  himself.  His  instructions  are 
not  limited  to  school  hours ;  and  having  inherited  the  musical 
taste  and  talents  of  his  father,  he  has  bitten  the  whole  school 
with  the  mania.  He  is  a  great  hand  at  beating  a  drum,  which 
is  often  heard  rumbling  from  the  rear  of  the  school-house.  He 
is  teaching  half  the  boys  of  the  village,  also,  to  play  the  fife, 
and  the  pandean  pipes ;  and  they  weary  the  whole  neighbour- 
hood with  their  vague  pipings,  as  they  sit  perched  on  stiles,  or 
loitering  about  the  barn-doors  in  the  evenings.  Among  the 
other  exercises  of  the  school,  also,  he  has  introduced  the  ancient 
art  of  archery,  one  of  the  Squire's  favourite  themes,  with  such 
success,  that  the  whipsters  roam  in  truant  bands  about  the 
neighbourhood,  practising  with  their  bows  and  arrows  upon  the 
birds  of  the  air,  and  the  beasts  of  the  field ;  and  not  unf  requently 
making  a  foray  into  the  Squire's  domains,  to  the  great  indigna 
tion  of  the  gamekeepers.  In  a  word,  so  completely  are  tho 
ancient  English  customs  and  habits  cultivated  at  this  school, 
that  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  the  Squire  should  live  to  see 
one  of  his  poetic  visions  realized,  and  a  brood  reared  up, 
worthy  successors  to  Eobin  Hood  and  his  merry  gang  of  out-' 
laws. 


192  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


A  VILLAGE  POLITICIAN. 

I  am  a  rogue  if  I  do  not  think  I  was  designed  for  the  helm  of  state;  I  am  so  full  ot 
nimble  stratagems,  that  I  should  have  ordered  affairs,  and  carried  it  against  the 
stream  of  a  faction,  with  as  much  ease  as  a  skipper  would  laver  against  the  wind. 

— The  Goblins. 

IN  one  of  my  visits  to  the  village  with  Master  Simon,  he  pro- 
posed that  we  should  stop  at  the  inn,  which  he  wished  to  show 
me,  as  a  specimen  of  ,a  real  country  inn,  the  head-quarters  of 
village  gossips.  I  had  remarked  it  before,  in  my  perambu- 
lations about  the  place.  It  has  a  deep,  old-fashioned  porch, 
leading  into  a  large  hall,  which  serves  for  tap-room  and  travel- 
lers'-room ;  having  a  wide  fire-place,  with  high-backed  settles  on 
each  side,  where  the  wise  men  of  the  village  gossip  over  their 
ale,  and  hold  their  sessions  during  the  long  winter  evenings. 
The  landlord  is  an  easy,  indolent  fellow,  shaped  a  little  like  one 
of  his  own  beer-barrels,  and  is  apt  to  stand  gossiping  at  his 
door,  with  his  wig  on  one  side,  and  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
whilst  his  wife  and  daughter  attend  to  customers.  His  wife, 
however,  is  fully  competent  to  manage  the  establishment ;  and, 
indeed,  from  long  habitude,  rules  over  all  the  frequenters  of 
the  tap-room  as  completely  as  if  they  were  her  dependants  in- 
stead of  her  patrons.  Not  a  veteran  ale-bibber  but  pays  homage 
to  her,  having,  no  doubt,  been  often  in  her  arrears.  I  have 
already  hinted  that  she  is  on  very  good  terms  with  Ready- 
Money  Jack.  He  was  a  sweetheart  of  hers  in  early  life,  and 
has  always  countenanced  the  tavern  on  her  account.  Indeed, 
he  is  quite  the  "cock  of  the  walk"  at  the  tap-room. 

As  we  approached  the  inn,  we  heard  some  one  talking  with 
great  volubility,  and  distinguished  the  ominous  words,  "taxes," 
"poor's  rates,"  and  "agricultural  distress."  It  proved  to  be  a 
thin,  loquacious  fellow,  who  had  penned  the  landlord  up  in  one 
corner  of  the  porch,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  as  ueuaL 
listening  with  an  air  of  the  most  vacant  acquiescence. 

The  sight  seemed  to  have  a  curious  effect  on  Master  Simon,  as 
he  squeezed  my  arm,  and,  altering  his  course,  sheered  wide  of 
the  porch,  as  though  he  had  not  had  any  idea  of  entering.  This 
evident  evasion  induced  me  to  notice  the  orator  more  particu- 
larly. He  was  meagre,  but  active  in  his  make,  with  a  long, 
pale,  bilious  face ;  a  black  beard,  so  ill-shaven  as  to  bloody  his 
shirt-collar,  a  feverish  eye,  and  a  hat  sharpened  up  at  the  sides, 
into  a  most  pragmatical  shape.  He  had  a  newspaper  in  his 


A   VILLAGE  POLITICIAN.  193 

hand,  and  seemed  to  be  commenting  on  its  contents,  to  tke 
thorough  conviction  of  mine  host. 

At  sight  of  Master  Simon,  the  landlord  was  evidently  a  little 
flurried,  and  began  to  rub  his  hands,  edge  away  from  his  cor- 
ner, and  make  several  profound  publican  bows;  while  the 
orator  took  no  other  notice  of  my  companion  than  to  talk 
rather  louder  than  before,  and  with,  as  I  thought,  something  of 
an  air  of  defiance.  Master  Simon,  however,  as  I  have  before 
said,  sheered  off  from  the  porch,  and  passed  on,  pressing  my 
arm  within  his,  and  whispering,  as  we  got  by,  in  a  tone  of  awe 
and  horror,  "  That's  a  radical!  he  reads  Cobbett!" 

I  endeavoured  to  get  a  more  particular  account  of  him  from 
my  companion,  but  he  seemed  unwilling  even  to  talk  about 
him,  answering  only  in  general  terms,  that  he  was  "a  cursed 
busy  fellow,  that  had  a  confounded  trick  of  talking,  and  was 
apt  to  bother  one  about  the  national  debt,  and  such  nonsense ;" 
from  which  I  suspected  that  Master  Simon  had  been  rendered 
wary  of  him  by  some  accidental  encounter  on  the  field  of  argu- 
ment ;  for  these  radicals  are  continually  roving  about  in  quest 
of  wordy  warfare,  and  never  so  happy  as  when  they  can  tilt  a 
gentleman  logician  out  of  his  saddle. 

On  subsequent  inquiry,  my  suspicions  have  been  confirmed. 
I  find  the  radical  has  but  recently  found  his  way  into  the  village, 
where  he  threatens  to  commit  fearful  devastations  with  his 
doctrines.  He  has  already  made  two  or  three  complete  con- 
verts, or  new  lights;  has  shaken  the  faith  of  several  others; 
and  has  grievously  puzzled  the  brains  of  many  of  the  oldest 
villagers,  who  had  never  thought  about  politics,  or  scarce  any 
thing  else,  during  their  whole  lives. 

He  is  lean  and  meagre  from  the  constant  restlessness  of  mind 
and  body ;  worrying  about  with  newspapers  and  pamphlets  in 
his  pockets,  which  he  is  ready  to  pull  out  on  all  occasions.  He 
has  shocked  several  of  the  staunchest  villagers,  by  talking 
lightly  of  the  Squire  and  his  family ;  and  hinting  that  it  would 
be  better  the  park  should  be  cut  into  small  farms  and  kitchen- 
gardens,  or  feed  good  mutton  instead  of  worthless  deer. 

He  is  a  great  thorn  in  the  side  of  the  Squire,  who  is  sadly 
afraid  that  he  will  introduce  politics  into  the  village,  and  turn 
it  into  an  unhappy,  thinking  community.  He  is  a  still  greater 
grievance  to  Master  Simon,  who  has  hitherto  been  able  to  sway 
the  political  opinions  of  the  place,  without  much  cost  of  learn- 
ing or  logic ;  but  has  been  much  puzzled  of  late  to  weed  out  the 
doubts  and  heresies  already  sown  by  this  champion  of  reform, 


194  BRACESEIDGE  HALL. 

Indeed,  the  Latter  has  taken  complete  command  at  the  tap-room 
of  the  tavern,  not  so  much  because  he  has  convinced,  as  be- 
cause he  has  out-talked  all  the  old-established  oracles.  The 
apothecary,  with  all  his  philosophy,  was  as  nought  before  him. 
He  has  convinced  and  converted  the  landlord  at  least  a  dozen 
times;  who,  however,  is  liable  to  be  convinced  and  convert  id 
the  other  way,  by  the  next  person  with  whom  he  talks.  1 ;  ; 
true  the  radical  has  a  violent  antagonist  in  the  landlady,  who  is 
vehemently  loyal,  and  thoroughly  devoted  to  the  king,  v 
Simon,  and  the  Squire.  She  now  and  then  comes  out  upon  the 
reformer  with  all  the  fierceness  of  a  cat-o'-mountain,  and  «!  ee 
not  spare  her  own  soft-headed  husband,  for  listening  to  what 
she  terms  such  "low-lived  politics."  What  makes  the  px;cl 
woman  the  more  violent,  is  the  perfect  coolness  with  which  the 
radical  listens  to  her  attacks,  drawing  his  face  up  into  a  pro- 
voking supercilious  smile ;  and  when  she  has  talked  herself  out 
of  breath,  quietly  asking  her  for  a  taste  of  her  home-brewed. 

The  only  person  that  is  in  any  way  a  match  for  this  redoubt- 
able politician,  is  Ready-Money  Jack  Tibbets,  who  maintains 
his  stand  in  the  tap-room,  in  defiance  of  the  radical  and  all  his 
works.  Jack  is  one  of  the  most  loyal  men  in  the  country, 
without  being  able  to  reason  about  the  matter.  He  has  that 
admirable  quality  for  a  tough  arguer,  also,  that  he  never  knows 
when  he  is  beat.  He  has  half-a-dozen  old  maxims  which  he  ad- 
vances on  all  occasions,  and  though  his  antagonist  may  overt  urn 
them  never  so  often,  yet  he  always  brings  them  anew  to  the 
field.  He  is  like  the  robber  in  Ariosto,  who,  though  his  head 
might  be  cut  off  half-a-hundred  times,  yet  whipped  it  on  his 
shoulders  again  in  a  twinkling,  and  returned  as  sound  a  man 
as  ever  to  the  charge. 

Whatever  does  not  square  with  Jack's  simple  and  obvious 
)creed,  he  sets  down  for  "French  politics;"  for,  notwithstand- 
ing the  peace,  he  cannot  be  persuaded  that  the  French  are  not 
still  laying  plots  to  ruin  the  nation,  and  to  get  hold  of  the  Bank 
of  England.  The  radical  attempted  to  overwhelm  him,  one 
day,  by  a  long  passage  from  a  newspaper;  but  Jack  neither 
reads  nor  believes  in  newspapers.  In  reply,  he  gave  him  one 
of  the  stanzas  which  he  has  by  heart  from  his  favourite,  and 
indeed  only  author,  old  Tusser,  and  which  he  calls  his  Golden 
Rules: 

Leave  princes'  affairs  undescanted  on, 
And  tend  to  such  doings  as  stand  thee  upon; 
Fear  God,  and  offend  not  the  king  nor  his  laws, 
Aid  keep  thyself  out  of  the  magistrate's  claws. 


TIIE  ROOKERY.  195 

When  Tibbets  had  pronounced  this  with  great  emphasis,  he 
pulled  out  a  well-filled  leathern  purse,  took  out  a  handful  of 
gold  and  silver,  paid  his  score  at  the  bar  with  great  punctual- 
ity, returned  his  money,  piece  by  piece,  into  his  purse,  his 
purse  into  his  pocket,  which  he  buttoned  up ;  and  then,  giving 
his  cudgel  a  stout  thump  upon  the  floor,  and  bidding  the  radi- 
cal "good-morning,  sir!"  with  the  tone  of  a  man  who  con- 
ceives he  has  completely  done  for  his  antagonist,  he  walked 
with  lion-like  gravity  out  of  the  house.  Two  or  three  of  Jack's 
admirers  who  were  present,  and  had  been  afraid  to  take  the 
field  themselves,  looked  upon  this  as  a  perfect  triumph,  and 
winked  at  each  other  when  the  radical's  back  was  turned. 
"Ay,  ay!"  said  mine  host,  as  soon  as  the  radical  was  out  of 
hearing,  "let  old  Jack  alone;  I'll  warrant  he'll  give  him  his 
own  I" 


THE  EOOKERY. 

But  cawing  rooks,  and  kites  that  swim  sublime 

In  still  repeated  circles,  screaming  loud ; 

The  jay,  the  pie,  and  e'en  the  boding  owl, 

That  hails  the  rising  moon,  have  charms  for  me. — COWPEB. 

IN  a  grove  of  tall  oaks  and  beeches,  that  crowns  a  terrace* 
walk,  just  on  the  skirts  of  the  garden,  is  an  ancient  rookery, 
which  is  one  of  the  most  important  provinces  in  the  Squire'a 
rural  domains.  The  old  gentleman  sets  great  store  by  his 
rooks,  and  will  not  suffer  one  of  them  to  be  killed:  in  con- 
sequence of  which,  they  have  increased  amazingly;  the  tree- 
tops  are  loaded  with  their  nests ;  they  have  encroached  upon 
the  great  avenue,  and  have  even  established,  in  times  long 
past,  a  colony  among  the  elms  and  pines  of  the  church-yard, 
which,  like  other  distant  colonies,  has  already  thrown  off 
allegiance  to  the  mother  country. 

The  rooks  are  looked  up  by  the  Squire  as  a  very  ancient  and 
honourable  line  of  gentry,  highly  aristocratical  in  their  notions, 
fond  of  place,  and  attached  to  church  and  state ;  as  their  build- 
ing so  loftily,  keeping  about  churches  and  cathedrals,  and  in 
the  venerable  groves  of  old  castles  and  manor-houses,  suffi- 
ciently manifests.  The  good  opinion  thus  expressed  by  the 
Squire  put  me  upon  observing  more  narrowly  these  very  re- 
spectable birds,  for  I  confess,  to  my  shame,  I  had  been  apt  to 


196  BRACKBRWOE  HALL 

confound  them  with  their  cousins-german  the  crows,  to  whom, 
at  the  first  glance,  they  bear  so  great  a  family  resemblance. 
Nothing,  it  seems,  could  be  more  unjust  or  injurious  than  such 
a  mistake.  The  rooks  and  crows  are,  among  the  feathered 
tribes,  what  the  Spaniards  and  Portuguese  are  among  nations, 
the  least  loving,  in  consequence  of  their  neighbourhood  and 
similarity.  The  rooks  are  old  established  housekeepers,  high- 
minded  gentlefolk,  that  have  had  their  hereditary  abodes  tine 
out  of  mind ;  but  as  to  the  poor  crows,  they  are  a  kind  of  vag;  i 
bond,  predatory,  gipsy  race,  roving  about  the  country  without 
any  settled  home;  "their  hands  are  against  every  body,  and 
every  body's  against  them;"  and  they  are  gibbeted  in  every 
corn-field.  Master  Simon  assures  me  that  a  female  rook,  that 
should  so  far  forget  herself  as  to  consort  with  a  crow,  would 
inevitably  be  disinherited,  and  indeed  would  be  totally  dis- 
carded by  all  her  genteel  acquaintance. 

The  Squire  is  very  watchful  over  the  interests  and  concerns 
of  his  sable  neighbours.  As  to  Master  Simon,  he  even  pretends 
to  know  many  of  them  by  sight,  and  to  have  given  names  to 
them ;  he  points  out  several,  which  he  says  are  old  heads  of 
families,  and  compares  them  to  worthy  old  citizens,  before- 
hand in  the  world,  that  wear  cocked  hats,  and  silver  buckles 
in  their  shoes.  Notwithstanding  the  protecting  benevolence  of 
the  Squire,  and  their  being  residents  in  his  empire,  they  seem 
to  acknowledge  no  allegiance,  and  to  hold  no  intercourse  or 
intimacy.  Their  airy  tenements  are  built  almost  out  of  the 
reach  of  gun-shot ;  and,  notwithstanding  their  vicinity  to  the 
Hall,  they  maintain  a  most  reserved  and  distrustful  shyness  of 
mankind. 

There  is  one  season  of  the  year,  however,  which  brings  all 
birds  in  a  manner  to  a  level,  and  tames  the  pride  of  the  loftiest 
•high-flyer — which  is  the  season  of  building  their  nests.  This 
jtakes  place  early  in  the  spring,  when  the  forest  trees  first  begin 
to  show  their  buds ;  the  long,  withy  ends  of  the  branches  to 
turn  green;  when  the  wild  strawberry,  and  other  herbage  of 
the  sheltered  woodlands,  put  forth  their  tender  and  tinted 
leaves ;  and  the  daisy  and  the  primrose  peep  from  under  the 
hedges.  At  this  time  there  is  a  general  bustle  among  the  f < >.- 1 1 1 1- 
ered  tribes ;  an  incessant  fluttering  about,  and  a  cheerful  chirp- 
ing; indicative,  like  the  germination  of  the  vegetable  world, 
of  the  reviving  life  and  fecundity  of  the  year. 

It  is  then  that  the  rooks  forget  their  usual  stateliness  and 
their  shy  and  lofty  habits.  Instead  of  keeping  up  in  the  high 


THE  ROOKERY.  197 

regions  of  the  air,  swinging  on  the  breezy  tree-tops,  and  look- 
ing down  with  sovereign  contempt  upon  the  humble  crawlers 
upon  earth,  they  are  fain  to  throw  off  for  a  time  the  dignity  of 
the  gentleman,  to  come  down  to  the  ground,  and  put  on  the 
pains-taking  f,nd  industrious  character  of  a  labourer.  They 
now  lose  their  natural  shyness,  become  fearless  and  familiar, 
and  may  be  seen  plying  about  in  all  directions,  with  an  air  of 
great  assiduity,  in  search  of  building  materials.  Every  now 
and  then  your  path  will  be  crossed  by  one  of  these  busy  old 
gentlemen,  worrying  about  with  awkward  gait,  as  if  troubled 
with  the  gout,  or  with  corns  on  his  toes,  casting  about  many  a 
prying  look,  turning  down  first  one  eye,  then  the  other,  in 
earnest  consideration,  upon  every  straw  he  meets  with ;  until, 
espying  some  mighty  twig,  large  enough  to  make  a  rafter  for 
his  air-castle,  he  will  seize  upon  it  with  avidity,  and  hurry 
away  with  it  to  the  tree-top;  fearing,  apparently,  lest  you 
should  dispute  with  him  the  invaluable  prize. 

Like  other  castle-builders,  these  airy  architects  seem  rather 
fanciful  in  the  materials  with  which  they  build,  and  to  like 
those  most  which  come  from  a  distance.  Thus,  though  there 
are  abundance  of  dry  twigs  on  the  surrounding  trees,  yet  they 
never  think  of  making  use  of  them,  but  go  foraging  in  distant 
lands,  and  come  sailing  home,  one  by  one,  from  the  ends  of  the 
earth,  each  bearing  in  his  bill  some  precious  piece  of  timber. 

Nor  must  I  avoid  mentioning  what,  I  grieve  to  say,  rather 
derogates  from  the  grave  and  honourable  character  of  these 
ancient  gentlefolk ;  that,  during  the  architectural  season,  they 
are  subject  to  great  dissensions  among  themselves ;  that  they 
make  no  scruple  to  defraud  and  plunder  each  other;  and  that 
sometimes  the  rookery  is  a  scene  of  hideous  brawl  and  commo- 
tion, in  consequence  of  some  delinquency  of  the  kind.  One  of 
the  partners  generally  remains  on  the  nest,  to  guard  it  from 
depredation,  and  I  have  seen  severe  contests,  when  some 
sly  neighbour  has  endeavoured  to  filch  away  a  tempting  rafter 
that  has  captivated  his  eye.  As  I  am  not  willing  to  admit  any 
suspicion  hastily,  that  should  throw  a  stigma  on  the  general 
character  of  so  worshipful  a  people,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that 
these  larcenies  are  very  much  discountenanced  by  the  higher 
classes,  and  even  rigorously  punished  by  those  in  authority; 
for  I  have  now  and  then  seen  a  whole  gang  of  rooks  fall  upon 
the  nest  of  some  individual,  pull  it  all  to  pieces,  carry  off  the 
spoils,  and  even  buffet  the  luckless  proprietor.  I  have  con- 
cluded this  to  be  some  signal  punishment  inflicted  upon  him, 


198  BRACEBR1DGE  HALL. 

by  the  officers  of  the  police,  for  some  pilfering  misdemeanour4, 
or,  perhaps,  that  it  was  a  crew  of  bailiffs  carrying  an  execution 
into  his  house. 

I  have  been  amused  with  another  of  their  movements  during 
the  building  season.  The  steward  has  suffered  a  considerable 
number  of  sheep  to  graze  on  a  lawn  near  the  house,  somewhat 
to  the  annoyance  of  the  Squire,  who  thinks  this  an  innovation 
on  the  dignity  of  a  park,  which  ought  to  be  devoted  to  deer 
only.  Be  this  as  it  may,  there  is  a  green  knoll,  not  far  from 
the  drawing-room  window,  where  the  ewes  and  lambs  are  ac- 
customed to  assemble  towards  evening,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
setting  sun.  No  sooner  were  they  gathered  here,  at  the  time 
when  these  politic  birds  were  building,  than  a  stately  old  rook, 
who  Master  Simon  assured  me  was  the  chief  magistrate  of  this 
community,  would  settle  down  upon  the  head  of  one  of  the 
ewes,  who,  seeming  conscious  of  this  condescension,  would 
desist  from  grazing,  and  stand  fixed  in  motionless  reverence  of 
her  august  burthen ;  the  rest  of  the  rookery  would  then  come 
wheeling  down,  in  imitation  of  their  leader,  until  every  ewe 
had  two  or  three  of  them  cawing,  and  fluttering,  and  battling 
upon  her  back.  Whether  they  requited  the  submission  of  the 
sheep,  by  levying  a  contribution  upon  their  fleece  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  rookery,  I  am  not  certain;  though  I  presume  they 
followed  the  usual  custom  of  protecting  powers. 

The  latter  part  of  May  is  the  time  of  great  tribulation  among 
the  rookeries,  when  the  young  are  just  able  to  leave  their  nests, 
and  balance  themselves  on  the  neighbouring  branches.  Now 
comes  on  the  season  of  "rook  shooting;"  a  terrible  slaughter 
of  the  innocents.  The  Squire,  of  course,  prohibits  all  invasion 
of  the  kind  on  his  territories;  but  I  am  told  that  a  lamentable 
havoc  takes  place  in  the  colony  about  the  old  church.  Upon 
this  devoted  commonwealth  the  village  charges  "with  all  its 
chivalry."  Every  idle  wight  that  is  lucky  enough  to  possess 
an  old  gun  or  blunderbuss,  together  with  all  the  archery  of 
Slingsby's  school,  take  the  field  on  the  occasion.  In  vain  does 
the  little  parson  interfere,  or  remonstrate,  in  angry  tones 
from  his  study  window  that  looks  into  the  churchyard ;  there 
is  a  continual  popping,  from  morning  till  night.  Being  no  great 
marksmen,  their  shots  are  not  often  effective ;  but  every  now 
and  then,  a  great  shout  from  the  besieging  army  of  bumpkins 
makes  known  the  downfall  of  some  unlucky  squab  rook,  which 
comes  to  the  ground  with  the  emphasis  of  a  squashed  apple- 
dumpling. 


TSE  ROOKERY.  199 

Nor  is  the  rookery  entirely  free  from  other  troubles  and 
disasters.  In  so  aristocratical  and  lofty-minded  a  community, 
which  boasts  so  much  ancient  blood  and  hereditary  pride,  it  is 
natural  to  suppose  that  questions  of  etiquette  will  sometimes 
arise  and  affairs  of  honour  ensue.  In  fact,  this  is  very  often 
the  case ;  bitter  quarrels  break  out  between  individuals,  which 
produce  sad  scufflings  on  tree-tops,  and  I  have  more  than  once 
seen  a  regular  duel  take  place  between  two  doughty  heroes  of 
the  rookery.  Their  field  of  battle  is  generally  the  air;  and 
their  contest  is  managed  in  the  most  scientific  and  elegant 
manner ;  wheeling  round  and  round  each  other,  and  towering 
higher  and  higher,  to  get  the  vantage-ground,  until  they  some- 
times disappear  in  the  clouds  before  the  combat  is  deter- 
mined. 

They  have  also  fierce  combats  now  and  then  with  an  invad- 
ing hawk,  and  will  drive  him  off  from  their  territories  by  a 
posse  comitatus.  They  are  also  extremely  tenacious  of  their 
domains,  and  will  suffer  no  other  bird  to  inhabit  the  grove  or 
its  vicinity.  There  was  a  very  ancient  and  respectable  old 
bachelor  owl,  that  had  long  had  his  lodgings  in  a  corner  of  the 
grove,  but  has  been  fairly  ejected  by  the  rooks ;  and  has  re- 
tired, disgusted  with  the  world,  to  a  neighbouring  wood,  where 
he  leads  the  life  of  a  hermit,  and  makes  nightly  complaints  of 
his  ill-treatment. 

The  hootings  of  this  unhappy  gentleman  may  generally  be 
heard  in  the  still  evenings,  when  the  rooks  are  all  at  rest ;  and 
I  have  often  listened  to  them  of  a  moonlight  night  with  a  kind 
of  mysterious  gratification.  This  gray -bearded  misanthrope, 
of  coiirse,  is  highly  respected  by  the  Squire ;  but  the  servants 
have  superstitious  notions  about  him,  and  it  would  be  difficult 
to  get  the  dairy -maid  to  venture  after  dark  near  to  the  wood 
which  he  inhabits. 

Beside  the  private  quarrels  of  the  rooks,  there  are  other  mis- 
fortunes to  which  they  aiie  liable,  and  which  often  bring  dis- 
tress into  the  most  respectable  families  of  the  rookery.  Having 
the  true  baronial  spirit  of  the  good  old  feudal  times,  they  are  apt 
now  and  then  to  issue  forth  from  their  castles  on  a  foray,  and 
to  lay  the  plebeian  fields  of  the  neighbouring  country  under  con- 
tribution ;  in  the  course  of  which  chivalrous  expeditions,  they 
now  and  then  get  a  shot  from  the  rusty  artillery  of  some  re- 
fractory farmer.  Occasionally,  too,  while  they  are  quietly 
taking  the  air  beyond  the  park  boundaries,  they  have  the  in- 
caution  to  come  within  the  reach  of  the  truant  bowman  of 


200  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL, 

Slingsby's  school,  and  receive  a  flight  shot  from  some  unlucky 
urchin's  arrow.  In  such  case,  the  wounded  adventurer  will 
sometimes  have  just  strength  enough  to  bring  himself  home, 
and,  giving  up  the  ghost  at  the  rookery,  will  hang  dangling  "all 
abroad  "  on  a  bough,  like  a  thief  on  a  gibbet — an  awful  warning 
to  his  friends,  and  an  object  of  great  commiseration  to  the 
Squire. 

But,  maugre  all  these  untoward  incidents,  the  rooks  have, 
upon  the  whole,  a  happy  holiday  life  of  it.  When  their  young 
are  reared  and  fairly  launched  upon  their  native  element,  the 
air,  the  cares  of  the  old  folks  seem  over,  and  they  resume  all 
their  aristocratical  dignity  and  idleness.  I  have  envied  them 
the  enjoyment  which  they  appear  to  have  in  their  ethereal 
heights,  sporting  with  clamorous  exultation  about  their  lofty 
bowers;  sometimes  hovering  over  them,  sometimes  partially 
alighting  upon  the  topmost  branches,  and  there  balancing  with 
outstretched  wings  and  swinging  in  the  breeze.  Sometimes 
they  seem  to  take  a  fashionable  drive  to  the  church  and  amuse 
themselves  by  circling  in  airy  rings  about  its  spire ;  at  other 
times  a  mere  garrison  is  left  at  home  to  mount  guard  in  their 
stronghold  at  the  grove,  while  the  rest  roam  abroad  to  enjoy 
the  fine  weather.  About  sunset  the  garrison  gives  notice  of 
their  return ;  their  faint  cawing  will  be  heard  from  a  great  dis- 
tance, and  they  will  be  seen  far  off  like  a  sable  cloud,  and  then 
nearer  and  nearer,  until  they  all  come  soaring  home.  Then 
they  perform  several  grand  circuits  in  the  air  over  the  Hall 
and  garden,  wheeling  closer  and  closer  until  they  gradually 
settle  down,  when  a  prodigious  cawing  takes  place,  as  though 
they  were  relating  their  day's  adventures. 

I  like  at  such  times  to  walk  about  these  dusky  groves,  and 
hear  the  various  sounds  of  these  airy  people  roosted  so  high 
above  me.  As  the  gloom  increases,  their  conversation  sub- 
sides, and  they  seem  to  be  gradually  dropping  asleep;  but 
every  now  and  then  there  is  a  querulous  note,  as  if  some  one 
was  quarrelling  for  a  pillow,  or  a  little  more  of  the  blanket. 
It  is  late  in  the  evening  before  they  completely  sink  to  repose, 
and  then  their  old  anchorite  neighbour,  the  owl,  begins  hii 
lonely  hooting  from  his  bachelor's-hall  in  the  wood. 


MAY-DAY.  201 


MAY-DAY. 

It  is  the  choice  time  of  the  year, 

For  the  violets  now  appear; 

Now  the  rose  receives  its  birth, 

And  pretty  primrose  decks  the  earth. 
Then  to  the  May -pole  come  away, 
For  it  is  now  a  holiday. — Acteon  and  Diana. 

As  I  was  lying  in  bed  this  morning,  enjoying  one  of  those 
half  dreams,  half  reveries,  which  are  so  pleasant  in  the  coun- 
try, when  the  birds  are  singing  about  the  window,  and  the 
sunbeams  peeping  through  the  curtains,  I  was  roused  by  the 
sound  of  music.  On  going  down-stairs  I  found  a  number  of 
villagers,  dressed  in  their  holiday  clothes,  bearing  a  pole  orna- 
mented with  garlands  and  ribands,  and  accompanied  by  the 
village  band  of  music,  under  the  direction  of  the  tailor,  the  pale 
fellow  who  plays  on  the  clarionet.  They  had  all  sprigs  of  haw- 
thorn, or,  as  it  is  called,  "the  May, "in  their  hats,  and  had 
brought  green  branches  and  flowers  to  decorate  the  Hall  door 
and  windows.  They  had  come  to  give  notice  that  the  May-pole 
was  reared  on  the  green,  and  to  invite  the  household  to  witness 
the  sports.  The  Hall,  according  to  custom,  became  a  scene  of 
hurry  and  delighted  confusion.  The  servants  were  all  agog  with 
May  and  music ;  and  there  was  no  keeping  either  the  tongues  or 
the  feet  of  the  maids  quiet,  who  were  anticipating  the  sports  of 
the  green  and  the  evening  dance. 

I  repaired  to  the  village  at  an  early  hour,  to  enjoy  the  merry- 
making. The  morning  was  pure  and  sunny,  such  as  a  May 
morning  is  always  described.  The  fields  were  white  with 
daisies,  the  hawthorn  was  covered  with  its  fragrant  blossoms, 
the  bee  hummed  about  every  bank,  and  the  swallow  played 
high  in  the  air  about  the  village  steeple.  It  was  one  of  those 
genial  days  when  we  seem  to  draw  in  pleasure  with  the  very 
air  we  breathe,  and  to  feel  happy  we  know  not  why.  Who- 
ever has  felt  the  worth  of  worthy  man,  or  has  doted  on  lovely 
woman,  will,  on  such  a  day,  call  them  tenderly  to  mind,  and 
feel  his  heart  all  alive  with  long-buried  recollections.  "For 
thenne,"  says  the  excellent  romance  of  King  Arthur,  "lovers 
call  ageyne  to  their  mynde  old  gentilnes  and  old  servyse,  and 
many  kind  dedes  that  were  forgotten  by  neglygence." 

Before  reaching  the  village,  I  saw  the  May -pole  towering 
above  the  cottages  with  its  gay  garlands  and  streamers,  and. 


202  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

heard  the  sound  of  music.  I  found  that  there  had  been  booths 
set  up  near  it,  for  the  reception  of  company ;  and  a  bower  of 
green  branches  and  flowers  for  the  Queen  of  May,  a  fresh,  rosy- 
cheeked  girl  of  the  village. 

A  band  of  morris-dancers  were  capering  on  the  green  in 
their  fantastic  dresses,  jingling  with  hawks'  bells,  with  a  boy 
dressed  up  as  Maid  Marian,  and  the  attendant  fool  rattling  his 
box  to  collect  contributions  from  the  bystanders.  The  gipsy- 
women  too  were  already  plying  their  mystery  in  by-corners 
of  the  village,  reading  the  hands  of  the  simple  country  girls, 
and  no  doubt  promising  them  all  good  husbands  and  tribes 
of  children. 

The  Squire  made  his  appearance  in  the  course  of  the  morning, 
attended  by  the  parson,  and  was  received  with  loud  acclama- 
tions. He  mingled  among  the  country  people  throughout  the 
day,  giving  and  receiving  pleasure  wherever  he  went.  The 
amusements  of  the  day  were  under  the  management  of  Slingsby, 
the  schoolmaster,  who  is  not  merely  lord  of  misrule  in  his 
school,  but  master  of  the  revels  to  the  village.  He  was  bustling 
about,  with  the  perplexed  and  anxious  air  of  a  man  who  has 
the  oppressive  burthen  of  promoting  other  people's  merriment 
upon  his  mind.  He  had  involved  himself  in  a  dozen  scrapes, 
in  consequence  of  a  politic  intrigue,  which,  by-the-by,  Master 
Simon  and  the  Oxonian  were  at  the  bottom  of,  which  had  for 
object  the  election  of  the  Queen  of  May.  Ho  had  met  with  vio- 
lent opposition  from  a  faction  of  ale-drinkers,  who  were  in 
favour  of  a  bouncing  bar-maid,  the  daughter  of  the  innkeeper ; 
but  he  had  been  too  strongly  backed  not  to  carry  his  point, 
though  it  shows  that  these  rural  crowns,  like  all  others,  are 
objects  of  great  ambition  and  heart-burning.  I  am  told  that 
Master  Simon  takes  great  interest,  though  in  an  underlmml 
way,  in  the  election  of  these  May-day  Queens,  and  that  the 
chaplet  is  generally  secured  for  some  rustic  beauty  that  has 
found  favour  in  his  eyes. 

In  the  course  of  the  day,  there  were  various  games  of  strength 
and  agility  on  the  green,  at  which  a  knot  of  village  veterans 
presided,  as  judges  of  the  lists.  Among  these  I  perceived  that 
Ready-Money  Jack  took  the  lead,  looking  with  a  learned  and 
critical  eye  on  the  merits  of  the  different  candidates;  and, 
though  he  was  very  laconic,  and  sometimes  merely  expr<  1 
himself  by  a  nod,  yet  it  was  evident  that  his  opinions  far  out- 
weighed those  of  the  most  loquacious. 

Young  Jack  Tibbets  was  the  hero  of  the  day,  and  carried  off 


MAY-DAT.  203 

most  of  the  prizes,  though  hi  some  of  the  feats  of  agility  he  was 
rivalled  by  the  "prodigal  son,"  who  appeared  much  in  his  ele- 
ment on  this  occasion ;  but  his  most  formidable  competitor  was 
the  notorious  gipsy,  the  redoubtable  "Starlight  Tom."  I  was 
rejoiced  at  having  an  opportunity  of  seeing  this  ' '  minion  of  the 
moon"  in  broad  daylight.  I  found  him  a  tall,  swarthy,  good- 
looking  fellow,  with  a  lofty  air,  something  like  what  I  have 
seen  in  an  Indian  chieftain ;  and  with  a  certain  lounging,  easy, 
and  almost  graceful  carriage,  which  I  have  often  remarked  in 
beings  of  the  lazzaroni  order,  that  lead  an  idle  loitering  life,  and 
have  a  gentlemanlike  contempt  of  labour. 

Master  Simon  and  the  old  general  reconnoitred  the  ground 
together,  and  indulged  a  vast  deal  of  harmless  raking  among 
the  buxom  country  girls.  Master  Simon  would  give  some  of 
them  a  kiss  on  meeting  with  them,  and  would  ask  after  their 
sisters,  for  he  is  acquainted  with  most  of  the  farmers'  families. 
Sometimes  he  would  whisper,  and  affect  to  talk  mischievously 
with  them,  and,  if  bantered  on  the  subject,  would  turn  it  off 
with  a  laugh,  though  it  was  evident  he  liked  to  be  suspected  of 
being  a  gay  Lothario  amongst  them. 

He  had  much  to  say  to  the  farmers  about  their  farms ;  and 
seemed  to  know  all  their  horses  by  name.  There  was  an  old 
fellow,  with  round  ruddy  face,  and  a  night-cap  under  his  hat, 
the  village  wit,  who  took  several  occasions  to  crack  a  joke  with 
him  in  the  hearing  of  his  companions,  to  whom  he  would  turn 
and  wink  hard  when  Master  Simon  had  passed. 

The  harmony  of  the  day,  however,  had  nearly,  at  one  time, 
been  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  the  radical  on  the 
ground,  with  two  or  three  of  his  disciples.  He  soon  got 
engaged  in  argument  in  the  very  thick  of  the  throng,  above 
which  I  could  hear  his  voice,  and  now  and  then  see  his  meagre 
hand,  half  a  mile  out  of  the  sleeve,  elevated  in  the  air  in  vio-[ 
lent  gesticulation,  and  flourishing  a  pamphlet  by  way  of  trun-j 
cheon.  He  was  decrying  these  idle  nonsensical  amusements  hi 
tune  of  public  distress,  when  it  was  every  one's  business  to 
think  of  other  matters,  and  to  be  miserable.  The  honest  vil- 
lage logicians  could  make  no  stand  against  him,  especially  as 
he  was  seconded  by  his  proselytes ;  when,  to  their  great  joy, 
Master  Simon  and  the  general  came  drif ting  down  into  the  field 
of  action.  I  saw  that  Master  Simon  was  for  making  off,  as 
soon  as  he  found  himself  in  the  neighbourhood  of  this  fire-ship ; 
but  the  general  was  too  loyal  to  suffer  such  talk  in  his  hearing, 
and  thought,  no  doubt,  that  a  look  and  a  word  from  a  gentlo- 


204  BRACEBR1DOE  HALL. 

man  would  be  sufficient  to  shut  up  so  shabby  an  orator.  The 
latter,  however,  was  no  respecter  of  persons,  but  rather  seemed 
to  exult  in  having  such  important  antagonists.  He  talked  with 
greater  volubility  than  ever,  and  soon  drowned  them  in 
declamation  on  the  subject  of  taxes,  poor's  rates,  and  the 
national  debt.  Master  Simon  endeavoured  to  brush  along  in 
his  usual  excursive  manner,  which  had  always  answered 
amazingly  well  with  the  villagers ;  but  the  radical  was  one  of 
those  pestilent  fellows  that  pin  a  man  down  to  facts;  and, 
indeed,  he  had  two  or  three  pamphlets  in  his  pocket,  to  sup- 
port every  thing  he  advanced  by  printed  documents.  The 
general,  too,  found  himself  betrayed  into  a  more  serious  action 
than  his  dignity  could  brook ;  and  looked  like  a  mighty  Dutch 
Indiaman,  grievously  peppered  by  a  petty  privateer.  It  was 
in  vain  that  he  swelled  and  looked  big,  and  talked  large,  and 
endeavoured  to  make  up  by  pomp  of  manner  for  poverty  of 
matter;  every  home-thrust  of  the  radical  made  him  wheeze 
like  a  bellows,  and  seemed  to  let  a  volume  of  wind  out  of  him. 
In  a  word,  the  two  worthies  from  the  Hall  were  completely 
dumbfounded,  and  this  too  in  the  presence  of  several  of  Master 
Simon's  staunch  admirers,  who  had  always  looked  up  to  him 
as  infallible.  I  do  not  know  how  he  and  the  general  would 
have  managed  to  draw  their  forces  decently  from  the  field, 
had  there  not  been  a  match  at  grinning  through  a  horse-collar 
announced,  whereupon  the  radical  retired  with  great  expres- 
sion of  contempt,  and,  as  soon  as  his  back  was  turned,  the 
argument  was  carried  against  him  all  hollow. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  such  a  pack  of  stuff,  general?"  said  Mas- 
ter Simon;  "there's  no  talking  with  one  of  these  chaps,  when 
he  once  gets  that  confounded  Cobbett  in  his  head. " 

"S'blood,  sir!"  said  the  general,  wiping  his  forehead,  "such 
fellows  ought  all  to  be  transported  1" 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  day,  the  ladies  from  the  Hall  paid  a 
visit  to  the  green.  The  fair  Julia  made  her  appearance  lean- 
ing on  her  lover's  arm,  and  looking  extremely  pale  and  inter- 
esting. As  she  is  a  great  favourite  in  the  village,  where  she 
has  been  known  from  childhood ;  and  as  her  late  accident  had 
been  much  talked  about,  the  sight  of  her  caused  very  manifest 
delight,  and  some  of  the  old  women  of  the  village  blessed  her 
sweet  face  as  she  passed. 

While  they  were  walking  about,  I  noticed  the  schoolmaster 
in  earnest  conversation  with  the  young  girl  that  represented 
the  Queen  of  May,  evidently  endeavouring  to  spirit  her  up  to 


MAT-DAT.  205 

eome  formidable  undertaking.  At  length,  as  the  party  from 
the  Hall  approached  her  bower,  she  came  forth,  faltering  at 
every  step,  until  she  reached  the  spot  where  the  fair  Julia 
stood  between  her  lover  and  Lady  Lilly  craft.  The  little  Queen 
then  took  the  chaplet  of  flowers  from  her  head,  and  attempted 
to  put  it  on  that  of  the  bride  elect ;  but  the  confusion  of  both 
was  so  great,  that  the  wreath  would  have  fallen  to  the  ground, 
had  not  the  officer  caught  it,  and,  laughing,  placed  it  upon  the 
blushing  brows  of  his  mistress.  There  was  something  charm- 
ing in  the  very  embarrassment  of  these  two  young  creatures, 
both  so  beautiful,  yet  so  different  in  their  kinds  of  beauty. 
Master  Simon  told  me,  afterwards,  that  the  Queen  of  May  was 
to  have  spoken  a  few  verses  which  the  schoolmaster  had 
written  for  her ;  but  that  she  had  neither  wit  to  understand,  nor 
memory  to  recollect  them.  "Besides,"  added  he,  "between 
you  and  I,  she  murders  the  king's  English  abominably ;  so  she 
has  acted  the  part  of  a  wise  woman,  in  holding  her  tongue,  and 
trusting  to  her  pretty  face." 

Among  the  other  characters  from  the  Hall  was  Mrs.  Hannah, 
my  Lady  Lillycraft's  gentlewoman;  to  my  surprise,  she  was 
escorted  by  old  Christy,  the  huntsman,  and  followed  by  his 
ghost  of  a  grayhound ;  but  I  find  they  are  very  old  acquaint- 
ances, being  drawn  together  by  some  sympathy  of  disposition. 
Mrs.  Hannah  moved  about  with  starched  dignity  among  the 
rustics,  who  drew  back  from  her  with  more  awe  than  they  did 
from  her  mistress.  Her  mouth  seemed  shut  as  with  a  clasp ; 
excepting  that  I  now  and  then  heard  the  word  "fellows!" 
escape  from  between  her  lips,  as  she  got  accidentally  jostled  in 
the  crowd. 

But  there  was  one  other  heart  present  that  did  not  enter  into 
the  merriment  of  the  scene,  which  was  that  of  the  simple 
Phoebe  Wilkins,  the  housekeeper's  niece.  The  poor  girl  has 
continued  to  pine  and  whine  for  some  time  past,  in  consequence 
of  the  obstinate  coldness  of  her  lover ;  never  was  a  little  flirta- 
tion more  severely  punished.  She  appeared  this  day  on  the 
green,  gallanted  by  a  smart  servant  out  of  livery,  and  had 
evidently  resolved  to  try  the  hazardous  experiment  of  awaken- 
ing the  jealousy  of  her  lover.  She  was  dressed  in  her  very 
best ;  affected  an  air  of  great  gayety ;  talked  loud  and  girlishly, 
and  laughed  when  there  was  nothing  to  laugh  at.  There  was, 
however,  an  aching,  heavy  heart  in  the  poor  baggage's  bosom, 
in  spite  of  all  her  levity.  Her  eye  turned  every  now  and  then 
in  quest  of  her  reckless  lover,  and  her  cheek  grew  pale,  and 


206  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL 

her  fictitious  gayety  vanished,  on  seeing  him  paying  his  rustic 
homage  to  the  little  May -day  Queen. 

My  attention  was  now  diverted  by  a  fresh  stir  and  bustle. 

Music  was  heard  from  a  distance ;  a  banner  was  seen  advancing 

up  the  road,  preceded  by  a  rustic  band  playing  something  like 

,  a  march,  and  followed  by  a  sturdy  throng  of  country  lads,  the 

chivalry  of  a  neighbouring  and  rival  village. 

No  sooner  had  they  reached  the  green,  than  they  challenged 
the  heroes  of  the  day  to  new  trials  of  strength  and  activity. 
Several  gymnastic  contests  ensued,  for  the  honour  of  the  re- 
spective villages.  In  the  course  of  these  exercises,  young  Tib- 
bets  and  the  champion  of  the  adverse  party  had  an  obstinate 
match  at  wrestling.  They  tugged,  and  strained,  and  panted, 
without  either  getting  the  mastery,  until  both  came  to  the 
ground,  and  rolled  upon  the  green.  Just  then,  the  disconsolate 
Phoebe  came  by.  She  saw  her  recreant  lover  hi  fierce  contest, 
as  she  thought,  and  in  danger.  In  a  moment  pride,  pique,  and 
coquetry,  were  forgotten ;  she  rushed  into  the  ring,  seized  upon 
the  rival  champion  by  the  hair,  and  was  on  the  point  of  wreak- 
ing on  him  her  puny  vengeance,  when  a  buxom,  strapping 
country  lass,  the  sweetheart  of  the  prostrate  swain,  pounced 
upon  her  like  a  hawk,  and  would  have  stripped  her  of  her 
fine  plumage  in  a  twinkling,  had  she  also  not  been  seized  in 
her  turn. 

A  complete  tumult  ensued.  The  chivalry  of  the  two  villages 
became  embroiled.  Blows  began  to  be  dealt,  and  sticks  to  be 
flourished.  Phoebe  was  carried  off  from  the  field  in  hysterics. 
In  vain  did  the  sages  of  the  village  interfere.  The  sententious 
apothecary  endeavoured  to  pour  the  soothing  oil  of  his  philo- 
sophy upon  this  tempestuous  sea  of  passion,  but  was  tumbled 
into  the  dust.  Slingsby,  the  pedagogue,  who  is  a  great  lover 
of  peace,  went  into  the  midst  of  the  throng,  as  marshal  of  the 
day,  to  put  an  end  to  the  commotion ;  but  was  rent  in  twain, 
and  came  out  with  his  garment  hanging  in  two  strips  from  his 
shoulders ;  upon  which  the  prodigal  son  dashed  hi  with  fury, 
to  revenge  the  insult  which  his  patron  had  sustained.  The 
tumult  thickened ;  I  caught  glimpses  of  the  jockey -cap  of  old 
Christy,  like  the  helmet  of  a  chieftain,  bobbing  about  in  the 
midst  of  the  scuffle ;  whilst  Mistress  Hannah,  separated  from 
her  doughty  protector,  was  squalling  and  striking  at  right  and 
left  with  a  faded  parasol ;  being  tossed  and  tousled  about  by 
the  crowd  in  such  wise  as  never  happened  to  maiden  gentle- 
woman before. 


MAT-DAT.  207 

At  length  I  beheld  old  Ready-Money  Jack  making  his  way 
into  the  very  thickest  of  the  throng ;  tearing  it,  as  it  were, 
apart,  and  enforcing  peace,  m  et  armis.  It  was  surprising  to 
see  the  sudden  quiet  that  ensued.  The  storm  settled  down  at 
once  into  tranquillity.  The  parties,  having  no  real  grounds  of 
hostility,  were  readily  pacified,  and  in  fact  were  a  little  at  a 
loss  to  know  why  and  how  they  had  got  by  the  ears.  Slingsby 
was  speedily  stitched  together  again  by  his  friend  the  tailor, 
and  resumed  his  usual  good-humour.  Mrs.  Hannah  drew  on 
one  side,  to  plume  her  rumpled  feathers ;  and  old  Christy,  hav- 
ing repaired  his  damages,  took  her  under  his  arm,  and  they 
swept  back  again  to  the  Hall,  ten  tunes  more  bitter  against 
mankind  than  ever. 

The  Tibbets  family  alone  seemed  slow  in  recovering  from  the 
agitation  of  the  scene.  Young  Jack  was  evidently  very  much 
moved  by  the  heroism  of  the  unlucky  Phoebe.  His  mother, 
who  had  been  summoned  to  the  field  of  action  by  news  of  the 
affray,  was  in  a  sad  panic,  and  had  need  of  all  her  manage- 
ment to  keep  him  from  following  his  mistress,  and  coming  to 
a  perfect  reconciliation. 

What  heightened  the  alarm  and  perplexity  of  the  good 
managing  dame  was,  that  the  matter  had  aroused  the  slow 
apprehension  of  old  Ready-Money  himself;  who  was  very 
much  struck  by  the  intrepid  interference  of  so  pretty  and  deli- 
cate a  girl,  and  was  sadly  puzzled  to  understand  the  meaning 
of  the  violent  agitation  in  his  family. 

When  all  this  came  to  the  ears  of  the  Squire,  he  was  griev- 
ously scandalized  that  his  May-day  fete  should  have  been  dis- 
graced by  such  a  brawl.  He  ordered  Phoebe  to  appear  before 
him ;  but  the  girl  was  so  frightened  and  distressed,  that  she 
came  sobbing  and  trembling,  and,  at  the  first  question  he 
asked,  fell  again  into  hysterics.  Lady  Lillycraft,  who  had 
understood  that  there  was  an  affair  of  the  heart  at  the  bot- 
tom of  this  distress,  immediately  took  the  girl  into  great  fa- 
vour and  protection,  and  made  her  peace  with  the  Squire. 
This  was  the  only  thing  that  disturbed  the  harmony  of  the 
day,  if  we  except  the  discomfiture  of  Master  Simon  and  the 
general  by  the  radical.  Upon  the  whole,  therefore,  the  Squire 
had  very  fair  reason  to  be  satisfied  that  he  had  ridden  his  hobby 
throughout  the  day  without  any  other  molestation. 

The  reader,  learned  in  these  matters,  will  perceive  that  all 
this  was  but  a  faint  shadow  of  the  once  gay  and  fanciful  rites 
of  May.  The  peasantry  have  lost  the  proper  feeling  for  these 


208  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

rites,  and  have  grown  almost  as  strange  to  them  as  the  boors 
of  La  Mancha  were  to  the  customs  of  chivalry,  in  the  days  of 
the  valorous  Don  Quixote.  Indeed,  I  considered  it  a  proof  of 
the  discretion  with  which  the  Squire  rides  his  hobby,  that  he 
had  not  pushed  the  thing  any  farther,  nor  attempted  to  revive 
many  obsolete  usages  of  the  day,  which,  in  the  present  matter- 
of-fact  times,  would  appear  affected  and  absurd.  I  must  say,' 
though  I  do  it  under  the  rose,  the  general  brawl  hi  which  this 
festival  had  nearly  terminated,  has  made  me  doubt  whether 
these  rural  customs  of  the  good  old  times  were  always  so  very 
loving  and  innocent  as  we  are  apt  to  fancy  them ;  and  whether 
the  peasantry  in  those  times  were  really  so  Arcadian  as  they 
have  been  fondly  represented.  I  begin  to  fear— 

"  Those  days  were  never;  airy  dream 

Sat  for  the  picture,  and  the  poet's  hand, 
Imparting  substance  to  an  empty  shade, 
Imposed  a  gay  delirium  for  a  truth. 
Qrant  it;  I  still  must  envy  them  an  age 
That  favour'd  such  a  dream." 


THE   MANUSCRIPT. 

YESTERDAY  was  a  day  of  quiet  and  repose,  after  the  bustle  of 
May -day.  During  the  morning,  I  joined  the  ladies  in  a  small 
sitting-room,  the  windows  of  which  came  down  to  the  floor, 
and  opened  upon  a  terrace  of  the  garden,  which  was  set  out 
with  delicate  shrubs  and  flowers.  The  soft  sunshine  that  fell 
into  the  room  through  the  branches  of  trees  that  overhung  the 
windows,  the  sweet  smell  of  the  flowers,  and  the  singing  of  the 
birds,  seemed  to  produce  a  pleasing  yet  calming  effect  on  the 
whole  party ;  for  some  time  elapsed  without  any  one  speaking,  I 
Lady  Lilly  craft  and  Miss  Tcmpleton  were  sitting  by  an  elegant 
work-table,  near  one  of  the  windows,  occupied  with  some 
pretty  lady-like  work.  The  captain  was  on  a  stool  at  his  mis- 
tress' feet,  looking  over  some  music ;  and  poor  Phoebe  Wilkins, 
who  has  always  been  a  kind  of  pet  among  the  ladies,  but  who 
has  risen  vastly  in  favour  with  Lady  Lillycraft,  in  consequence 
of  some  tender  confessions,  sat  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  with 
swoln  eyes,  working  pensively  at  some  of  the  fair  Julia's  wed- 
ding ornaments. 

The  silence  was  interrupted  by  her  ladyship,  who  suddenly 


THE  MANUSCUIPT.  209 

proposed  a  task  to  the  captain.  "I  am  in  your  debt,"  said 
she,  "for  that  tale  you  read  to  us  the  other  day;  I  will  now 
furnish  one  in  return,  if  you'll  read  it :  and  it  is  just  suited  to 
this  sweet  May  morning,  for  it  is  all  about  love !" 

The  proposition  seemed  to  delight  every  one  present.  The 
captain  smiled  assent.  Her  ladyship  rung  for  her  page,  and 
despatched  him  to  her  room  for  the  manuscript.  "As  the 
captain,"  said  she,  "gave  us  an  account  of  the  author  of  hie 
story,  it  is  but  right  I  should  give  one  of  mine.  It  was  written 
by  the  parson  of  the  parish  where  I  reside.  He  is  a  thin,  elderly 
man,  of  a  delicate  constitution,  but  positively  one  of  the  most 
charming  men  that  ever  lived.  He  lost  his  wife  a  few  years 
since ;  one  of  the  sweetest  women  you  ever  saw.  He  has  two 
sons,  whom  he  educates  himself;  both  of  whom  already  write 
delightful  poetry.  His  parsonage  is  a  lovely  place,  close  by 
the  church,  all  overrun  with  ivy  and  honeysuckles ;  with  the 
eweetest  flower-garden  about  it ;  for,  you  know,  our  country 
clergymen  are  almost  always  fond  of  flowers,  and  make  their 
parsonages  perfect  pictures. 

"His  living  is  a  very  good  one,  and  he  is  very  much 
beloved,  and  does  a  great  deal  of  good  in  the  neighbourhood, 
and  among  the  poor.  And  then  such  sermons  as  he  preaches ! 
Oh,  if  you  could  only  hear  one  taken  from  a  text  in  Solomon's 
Song,  all  about  love  and  matrimony,  one  of  the  sweetest  things 
you  ever  heard !  He  preaches  it  at  least  once  a  year,  in  spring- 
time, for  he  knows  I  am  fond  of  it.  He  always  dines  with  me 
on  Sundays,  and  often  brings  me  some  of  the  sweetest  pieces 
of  poetry,  all  about  the  pleasures  of  melancholy,  and  such  sub- 
jects, that  make  me  cry  so,  you  can't  think.  I  wish  he  would 
publish.  I  think  he  has  some  things  as  sweet  as  any  thing  of 
Moore  or  Lord  Byron. 

"He  fell  into  very  ill  health  some  time  ago,  and  was 
4dvised  to  go  to  the  continent  \  and  I  gave  him  no  peace  until 
he  went,  and  promised  to  take  care  of  his  two  boys  until  he 
returned. 

"He  was  gone  for  above  a  year,  and  was  quite  restored. 
When  he  came  back,  he  sent  me  the  tale  I'm  going  to  show 
you. — Oh,  here  it  is !"  said  she,  as  the  page  put  in  her  hands  a 
beautiful  box  of  satinwood.  She  unlocked  it,  and  from  among 
several  parcels  of  notes  on  embossed  paper,  cards  of  charades, 
and  copies  of  verses,  she  drew  out  a  crimson  velvet  case,  that 
smelt  very  much  of  perfumes.  From  this  she  took  a  manu- 
script, daintily  written  on  gilt-edged  vellum  paper,  and  stitched 


210  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

with  a  light  blue  riband.  This  she  handed  to  the  captain, 
who  read  the  following  tale,  which  I  have  procured  for  the 
entertainment  of  the  reader. 


ANNETTE  DELARBRE. 

The  soldier  f  rae  the  war  returns, 
And  the  merchant  from  the  main, 
But  I  hae  parted  with  my  love, 
And  ne'er  to  meet  again, 

My  dear. 
And  ne'er  to  meet  again. 

When  day  is  gone,  and  night  is  come. 
And  a'  are  boun  to  sleep, 
I  think  on  them  that's  far  awa 
The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep. 

My  dear, 
The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep.— Old  Scotch  Ballad. 

IN  the  course  of  a  tour  that  I  once  made  in  Lower  Normandy, 
I  remained  for  a  day  or  two  at  the  old  town  of  Honfleur,  which 
stands  near  the  mouth  of  the  Seme.  It  was  the  time  of  a  fete, 
and  all  the  world  was  thronging  in  the  evening  to  dance  at  the 
fair,  held  before  the  chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  Grace.  As  I  like 
all  kinds  of  innocent  merry-making,  I  joined  the  throng. 

The  chapel  is  situated  at  the  top  of  a  high  hill,  or  promon- 
tory, from  whence  its  bell  may  be  heard  at  a  distance  by  the 
mariner  at  night.  It  is  said  to  have  given  the  name  to  the  port 
of  Havre-de-Grace,  which  lies  directly  opposite,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Seine.  The  road  up  to  the  chapel  went  in  a  zigzag 
0001-86,  along  the  brow  of  the  steep  coast ;  it  was  shaded  by 
trees,  from  between  which  I  had  beautiful  peeps  at  the  ancient 
towers  of  Honfleur  below,  the  varied  scenery  of  the  opposite 
shore,  the  white  buildings  of  Havre  in  the  distance,  and  the 
wide  sea  beyond.  The  road  was  enlivened  by  groups  of  pea- 
sant girls,  in  their  bright  crimson  dresses  and  tall  caps ;  and  I 
found  all  the  flower  of  the  neighbourhood  assembled  on  the 
green  that  crowns  the  summit  of  the  hill. 

The  chapel  of  Notre  Dame  de  Grace  is  a  favourite  resort  of 
the  inhabitants  of  Honfleur  and  its  vicinity,  both  for  pleasure 
and  devotion.  At  this  little  chapel  prayers  are  put  up  by  the 
mariners  of  the  port  previous  to  their  voyages,  and  by  their 
friends  during  their  absence;  and  votive  offerings  are  hung 


ANNETTE  DELARBRE.  21 1 

about  its  walls,  in  fulfilment  of  vows  made  during  times 
of  shipwreck  and  disaster.  The  chapel  is  surrounded  by  trees. 
Over  the  portal  is  an  image  of  the  Virgin  and  child,  with  an 
inscription  whicif  struck  me  as  being  quite  poetical: 

'  Etoile  de  la  mer,  priez  pour  nous!" 
(Star  of  the  sea,  pray  for  us.) 

On  a  level  spot  near  the  chapel,  under  a  grove  of  noble  trees, 
the  populace  dance  on  fine  summer  evenings ;  and  here  are  held 
frequent  fairs  and  fetes,  which  assemble  all  the  rustic  beauty 
of  the  loveliest  parts  of  Lower  Normandy.  The  present  was 
an  occasion  of  the  kind.  Booths  and  tents  were  erected  among 
the  trees ;  there  were  the  usual  displays  of  finery  to  tempt  the 
rural  coquette,  and  of  wonderful  shows  to  entice  the  curious ; 
mountebanks  were  exerting  their  eloquence;  jugglers  and 
fortune-tellers  astonishing  the  credulous ;  while  whole  rows  of 
grotesque  saints,  in  wood  and  wax-work,  were  offered  for  the 
purchase  of  the  pious. 

The  fete  had  assembled  in  one  view  all  the  picturesque  cos- 
tumes of  the  Pays  d'Auge,  and  the  Cote  de  Caux.  I  beheld 
tall,  stately  caps,  and  trim  bodices,  according  to  fashions  which 
have  been  handed  down  from  mother  to  daughter  for  centuries, 
the  exact  counterparts  of  those  worn  in  the  time  of  the  Con- 
queror ;  and  which  surprised  me  by  their  faithful  resemblance 
to  those  which  I  had  seen  in  the  old  pictures  of  Froissart's 
Chronicles,  and  in  the  paintings  of  illuminated  manuscripts. 
Any  one,  also,  that  has  been  in  Lower  Normandy,  must  have 
remarked  the  beauty  of  the  peasantry,  and  that  air  of  native 
elegance  that  prevails  among  them.  It  is  to  this  country, 
undoubtedly,  that  the  English  owe  their  good  looks.  It  was 
from  hence  that  the  bright  carnation,  the  fine  blue  eye,  the 
light  auburn  hair,  passed  over  to  England  in  the  train  of  the 
Conqueror,  and  filled  the  land  with  beauty. 

The  scene  before  me  was  perfectly  enchanting :  the  assem- 
<?lage  of  so  many  fresh  and  blooming  faces ;  the  gay  groups  in 
fanciful  dresses ;  some  dancing  on  the  green,  others  strolling 
about,  or  seated  on  the  grass ;  the  fine  clumps  of  trees  in  the 
foreground,  bordering  the  brow  of  this  airy  height,  and  the 
broad  green  sea,  sleeping  in  summer  tranquillity  in  the  dis- 
tance. 

Whilst  I  was  regarding  this  animated  picture,  I  was  struck 
with  the  appearance  of  a  beautiful  girl,  who  passed  through  the 
crowd  without  seeming  to  take  any  interest  in  their  amuse- 


212  BBAOSBBtDGB  HALL. 

merits.  She  was  slender  and  delicate  in  her  form ;  she  had  not 
the  bloom  upon  her  cheek  that  is  usual  among  the  peasantry  of 
Normandy,  and  her  blue  eyes  had  a  singular  and  melancholy 
expression.  She  was  accompanied  by  a  venerable-looking 
man,  whom  I  presumed  to  be  her  father.  There  was  a  whisper 
among  the  bystanders,  and  a  wistful  look  after  her  as  she 
passed;  the  young  men  touched  their  hats,  and  some  of  the 
children  followed  her  at  a  little  distance,  watching  her  move- 
ments. She  approached  the  edge  of  the  hill,  where  there  is  a 
little  platform,  from  whence  the  people  of  Honfleur  look  out 
for  the  approach  of  vessels.  Here  she  stood  for  some  time 
waving  her  handkerchief,  though  there  was  nothing  to  be 
seen  but  two  or  three  fishing-boats,  like  mere  specks  on  the 
bosom  of  the  distant  ocean. 

These  circumstances  excited  my  curiosity,  and  I  made  some 
inquiries  about  her,  which  were  answered  with  readiness  and 
intelligence  by  a  priest  of  the  neighbouring  chapel.  Our  con- 
versation drew  together  several  of  the  by-standers,  each  of 
whom  had  something  to  communicate,  and  from  them  all  I 
gathered  the  following  particulars. 

Annette  Delarbre  was  the  only  daughter  of  one  of  the  liigher 
order  of  farmers,  or  small  proprietors,  as  they  are  called,  who 
lived  at  Pont  TEveque,  a  pleasant  village  not  far  from  Honfleur, 
in  that  rich  pastoral  part  of  Lower  Normandy  called  the  Pays 
d'Auge.  Annette  was  the  pride  and  delight  of  her  parents, 
and  was  brought  up  with  the  fondest  indulgence.  She  was  gay, 
tender,  petulant,  and  susceptible.  All  her  feelings  were  quick 
and  ardent;  and  having  never  experienced  contradiction  or 
restraint,  she  was  little  practised  in  self-control:  nothing  but 
the  native  goodness  of  her  heart  kept  her  from  running  con- 
tinually into  error. 

Even  while  a  child,  her  susceptibility  was  evinced  in  an 
attachment  which  she  formed  to  a  playmate,  Eugene  La 
Forgue,  the  only  son  of  a  widow,  who  lived  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. Their  childish  love  was  an  epitome  of  maturer  passion ; 
it  had  its  caprices,  and  jealousies,  and  quarrels,  and  reconcilia- 
tions. It  was  assuming  something  of  a  graver  character,  as 
Annette  entered  her  fifteenth  and  Eugene  his  nineteenth 
year,  when  he  was  suddenly  carried  off  to  the  army  by  the 
conscription. 

It  was  a  heavy  blow  to  his  widowed  mother,  for  he  was  her 
only  pride  and  comfort ;  but  it  was  one  of  those  sudden  bereave- 
ments which  mothers  w.ere  perpetually  doomed  to  feel  iq 


ANNETTE  LELARBRE.  213 

France,  during  the  time  that  continual  and  bloody  wars  were 
incessantly  draining  her  youth.  It  was  a  temporary  affliction 
also  to  Annette,  to  lose  her  lover.  With  tender  embraces,  half 
childish,  half  womanish,  she  parted  from  him.  The  tears 
streamed  from  her  blue  eyes,  as  she  bound  a  braid  of  her  fair 
hair  round  his  wrist ;  but  the  smiles  still  broke  through ;  for  she 
was  yet  too  young  to  feel  how  serious  a  thing  is  separation, 
and  how  many  chances  there  are,  when  parting  in  this  wide 
world,  against  our  ever  meeting  again. 

Weeks,  months,  years  flew  by.  Annette  increased  in  beauty 
as  she  increased  in  years,  and  was  the  reigning  belle  of  the 
neighbourhood.  Her  time  passed  innocently  and  happily.  Her 
father  was  a  man  of  some  consequence  in  the  rural  community, 
and  his  house  was  the  resort  of  the  gayest  of  the  village. 
Annette  held  a  kind  of  rural  court ;  she  was  always  surrounded 
by  companions  of  her  own  age,  among  whom  she  alone 
unrivalled.  Much  of  their  time  was  passed  in  making  lace,  the 
prevalent  manufacture  of  the  neighbourhood.  As  they  sat  at 
this  delicate  and  feminine  labour,  the  merry  tale  and  sprightly 
song  went  round;  none  laughed  with  a  lighter  heart  than 
Annette ;  and  if  she  sang,  her  voice  was  perfect  melody.  Their 
evenings  were  enlivened  by  the  dance,  or  by  those  pleasant 
social  games  so  prevalent  among  the  French;  and  when  she 
appeared  at  the  village  ball  on  Sunday  evenings,  she  was  the 
theme  of  universal  admiration. 

As  she  was  a  rural  heiress,  she  did  not  want  for  suitors. 
Many  advantageous  offers  were  made  her,  but  she  refused  them 
all.  She  laughed  at  the  pretended  pangs  of  her  admirers,  and 
triumphed  over  them  with  the  caprice  of  buoyant  youth  and 
conscious  beauty.  With  all  her  apparent  levity,  however, 
could  any  one  have  read  the  story  of  her  heart,  they  might 
have  traced  in  it  some  fond  remembrance  of  her  early  play-f 
mate,  not  so  deeply  graven  as  to  be  painful,  but  too  deep  to  be 
easily  obliterated ;  and  they  might  have  noticed,  amidst  all  her 
gayety,  the  tenderness  that  marked  her  manner  towards  the 
mother  of  Eugene.  She  would  often  steal  away  from  her  youth- 
ful companions  and  their  amusements,  to  pass  whole  days  with 
the  good  widow ;  listening  to  her  fond  talk  about  her  boy,  and 
blushing  with  secret  pleasure,  when  his  letters  were  read,  at 
finding  herself  a  constant  theme  of  recollection  and  inquiry. 

At  length  the  sudden  return  of  peace,  which  sent  many  a 
warrior  to  his  native  cottage,  brought  back  Eugene,  a  young 
sun-burnt  soldier,  to  the  village.  I  need  not  say  how  raptur- 


214  BRACEBR1DOE  HALL. 

ously  his  return  was  greeted  by  his  mother,  who  saw  in  him 
the  pride  and  staff  of  her  old  age.  He  had  risen  in  the  service 
by  his  merits;  but  brought  away  little  from  the  wars,  except- 
ing a  soldier-like  air,  a  gallant  name,  and  a  scar  across  the 
forehead.  He  brought  back,  however,  a  nature  unspoiled  by 
the  camp.  He  was  frank,  open,  generous,  and  ardent.  His 
heart  was  quick  and  kind  in  its  impulses,  and  was  perhaps  a 
little  softer  from  having  suffered :  it  was  full  of  tenderness  for 
Annette.  He  had  received  frequent  accounts  of  her  from  his 
mother ;  and  the  mention  of  her  kindness  to  his  lonely  parent, 
had  rendered  her  doubly  dear  to  him.  He  had  be jn  wounded ; 
he  had  been  a  prisoner;  he  had  been  in  various  troubles,  but 
had  always  preserved  the  braid  of  her  hair,  which  she  had 
bound  round  his  arm.  It  had  been  a  kind  of  talisman  to  him ; 
he  had  many  a  time  looked  upon  it  as  he  lay  on  the  hard 
ground,  and  the  thought  that  he  might  one  day  see  Annette 
again,  and  the  fair  fields  about  his  native  village,  had  cheered 
his  heart,  and  enabled  him  to  bear  up  against  every  hardship. 

He  had  left  Annette  almost  a  child— he  found  her  a  blooming 
woman.  If  he  had  loved  her  before,  he  now  adored  her. 
Annette  was  equally  struck  with  the  improvement  which  time 
had  made  in  her  lover.  She  noticed,  with  secret  admiration, 
his  superiority  to  the  other  young  men  of  the  village;  the 
frank,  lofty,  military  air,  that  distinguished  him  from  all  the 
rest  at  their  rural  ffitlu-rings.  The  more  she  saw  him,  the 
more  her  light,  playful  fondness  of  former  years  deepened  into 
ardent  and  powerful  affection.  But  Annette  was  a  rural  belle. 
She  had  tasted  the  sweets  of  dominion,  and  had  been  rendered 
wilful  and  capricious  by  constant  indulgence  at  home,  and 
admiration  abroad.  She  was  conscious  of  her  power  over 
Eugene,  and  delighted  in  exercising  it.  She  sometimes  treated 
him  with  petulant  caprice,  enjoying  the  pain  which  she  inflicted 
by  her  frowns,  from  the  idea  how  soon  she  would  chase  it  away 
again  by  her  smiles.  She  took  a  pleasure  in  alarming  his  fears, 
by  affecting  a  temporary  preference  to  some  one  or  other  of  his 
rivals ;  and  then  would  delight  in  allaying  them,  by  an  ample 
measure  of  returning  kindness.  Perhaps  there  was  some 
degree  of  vanity  gratified  by  all  this ;  it  might  be  a  matter  of 
triumph  to  show  her  absolute  power  over  the  young  soldier, 
who  was  the  universal  object  of  female  admiration.  Eugene, 
however,  was  of  too  serious  and  ardent  a  nature  to  be  trifled 
with.  He  loved  too  fervently  not  to  be  filled  with  doubt.  He 
saw  Annette  surrounded  by  admirers,  and  full  of  animation; 


ANNETTE  DELARBRE. 

the  gayest  among  the  gay  at  all  their  rural  festivities,  and 
apparently  most  gay  when  he  was  most  dejected.  Every  one 
saw  through  this  caprice,  but  himself ;  every  one  saw  that  in 
reality  she  doted  on  him;  but  Eugene  alone  suspected  the 
sincerity  of  her  affection.  For  some  time  he  bore  this  coquetry 
with  secret  impatience  and  distrust ;  but  his  f eelings  grew  sore 
and  irritable,  and  overcame  his  self-command.  A  slight  mis- 
understanding took  place;  a  quarrel  ensued.  Annette,  unac- 
customed to  be  thwarted  and  contradicted,  and  full  of  the 
insolence  of  youthful  beauty,  assumed  an  air  of  disdain.  She 
refused  all  explanations  to  her  lover,  and  they  parted  in  anger. 
That  very  evening  Eugene  saw  her,  full  of  gayety,  dancing  with 
one  of  his  rivals ;  and  as  her  eye  caught  his,  fixed  on  her  with 
unfeigned  distress,  it  sparkled  with  more  than  usual  vivacity. 
It  was  a  finishing  blow  to  his  hopes,  already  so  much  impaired 
by  secret  distrust.  Pride  and  resentment  both  struggled  in  his 
breast,  and  seemed  to  rouse  his  spirit  to  all  its  wonted  energy. 
He  retired  from  her  presence,  with  the  hasty  determination 
never  to  see  her  again. 

A  woman  is  more  considerate  in  affairs  of  love  than  a  man ; 
because  love  is.  more  the  study  and  business  of  her  life.  An- 
nette soon  repented  of  her  indiscretion ;  she  felt  that  she  had 
used  her  lover  unkindly ;  she  felt  that  she  had  trifled  with  his 
sincere  and  generous  nature — and  then  he  looked  so  handsome 
when  he  parted  after  their  quarrel — his  fine  features  lighted  up 
by  indignation.  She  had  intended  making  up  with  him  at  the 
evening  dance ;  but  his  sudden  departure  prevented  her.  She 
now  promised  herself  that  when  next  they  met  she  would  am- 
ply repay  him  by  the  sweets  of  a  perfect  reconciliation,  and 
that,  thenceforward,  she  would  never — never  tease  him  more ! 
That  promise  was  not  to  be  fulfilled.  Day  after  day  passed — 
but  Eugene  did  not  make  his  appearance.  Sunday  evening 
came,  the  usual  time  when  all  the  gayety  of  the  village  assem- 
bled—but Eugene  was  not  there.  She  inquired  after  him ;  he 
had  left  the  village.  She  now  became  alarmed,  and,  forgetting 
all  coyness  and  affected  indifference,  called  on  Eugene's  mother 
for  an  explanation.  She  found  her  full  of  affliction,  and  learnt 
with  surprise  and  consternation  that  Eugene  had  gone  to  sea. 

While  his  feelings  were  yet  smarting  with  her  affected  dis- 
dain, and  his  heart  a  prey  to  alternate  indignation  and  despair, 
he  had  suddenly  embraced  an  invitation  which  had  repeatedly 
been  made  him  by  a  relation,  who  was  fitting  out  a  ship  from, 
the  port  of  Honfleur,  aud  who  "wished  him  to  be  the  companion 


216  BRACEBR1DGB  HALL. 

of  his  voyage.  Absence  appeared  to  mm  the  only  cure  for  his 
unlucky  passion ;  and  in  the  temporary  transports  of  his  feel- 
ings, there  was  something  gratifying  in  the  idea  of  having  half 
the  world  intervene  between  them.  The  hurry  necessary  for 
his  departure  left  no  time  for  cool  reflection ;  it  rendered  him 
deaf  to  the  remonstrances  of  his  afflicted  mother.  He  has- 
tened to  Honfleur  just  in  time  to  make  t'-.e  needful  preparations 
for  the  voyage ;  and  the  first  news  that  Annette  received  of 
this  sudden  determination  was  a  letter  delivered  by  his  mother, 
returning  her  pledges  of  affection,  particularly  the  long-treas- 
ured braid  of  her  hair,  and  bidding  her  a  last  farewell,  in  terms 
more  full  of  sorrow  and  tenderness  than  upbraiding. 

This  was  the  first  stroke  of  real  anguish  that  Annette  had 
ever  received,  and  it  overcame  her.  The  vivacity  of  her  spirits 
was  apt  to  hurry  her  to  extremes ;  she  for  a  time  gave  way  to 
ungovernable  transports  of  affliction  and  remorse,  and  mani- 
fested, in  the  violence  of  her  grief,  the  real  ardour  of  her  affec- 
tion. The  thought  occurred  to  her  that  the  ship  might  not  yet 
have  sailed ;  she  seized  on  the  hope  with  eagerness,  and  has- 
tened with  her  father  to  Honfleur.  The  ship  had  sailed  that 
very  morning.  From  the  heights  above  the  town  she  saw  it 
lessening  to  a  speck  on  the  broad  bosom  of  the  ocean,  and 
before  evening  the  white  sail  had  faded  from  her  sight.  She 
turned  full  of  anguish  to  the  neighbouring  chapel  of  Our  Lady 
of  Grace,  and  throwing  herself  on  the  pavement,  poured  out 
prayers  and  tears  for  the  safe  return  of  her  lover. 

When  she  returned  home,  the  cheerfulness  of  her  spirits  was 
at  an  end.  She  looked  back  with  remorse  and  self -upbraiding 
at  her  past  caprices ;  she  turned  with  distaste  from  the  adula- 
tion of  her  admirers,  and  had  no  longer  any  relish  for  the 
amusements  of  the  village.  With  humiliation  and  diffidence, 
she  sought  the  widowed  mother  of  Eugene ;  but  was  received 
by  her  with  an  overflowing  heart ;  for  she  only  beheld  in  An- 
nette one  who  could  sympathize  in  her  doting  fondness  for  her 
son.  It  seemed  some  alleviation  of  her  remorse  to  sit  by  the 
mother  all  day,  to  study  her  wants,  to  beguile  her  heavy  hours, 
to  hang  about  her  with  the  caressing  endearments  of  a  daugh- 
ter, and  to  seek  by  every  means,  if  possible,  to  supply  the  place 
of  the  son,  whom  she  reproached  herself  with  having  driven 
away. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  ship  made  a  prosperous  voyage  to  her 
destined  port.  Eugene's  mother  received  a  letter  from  him,  in 
which  he  lamented  the  precipitancy  of  his  departure.  The 


ANNETTE  DELARBRE.  217 

voyage  had  given  him  time  for  sober  reflection.  If  Annette 
had  been  unkind  to  him,  he  ought  not  to  have  forgotten  what 
was  due  to  his  mother,  who  was  now  advanced  in  years.  He 
accused  himself  of  selfishness,  in  only  listening  to  the  sugges- 
tions of  his  own  inconsiderate  passions.  He  promised  to  return 
with  the  ship,  to  make  his  mind  up  to  his  disappointment,  and 

to  think  of  nothing  but  making  his  mother  happy ' '  And 

when  he  does  return,"  said  Annette,  clasping  her  hands  with 
transport,  "it  shall  not  be  my  fault  if  he  ever  leaves  us  again." 

The  time  approached  for  the  ship's  return.  She  was  daily 
expected,  when  the  weather  became  dreadfully  tempestuous. 
Day  after  day  brought  news  of  vessels  foundered,  or  driven  on 
shore,  and  the  coast  was  strewed  with  wrecks.  Intelligence 
was  received  of  the  looked-for  ship  having  been  seen  dismasted 
In  a  violent  storm,  and  the  greatest  fears  were  entertained  for 
her  safety. 

Annette  never  left  the  side  of  Eugene's  mother.  She  watched 
every  change  of  her  countenance  with  painful  solicitude,  and 
endeavoured  to  cheer  her  with  hopes,  while  her  own  mind  was 
racked  by  anxiety.  She  tasked  her  efforts  to  be  gay ;  but  it 
was  a  forced  and  unnatural  gayety:  a  sigh  from  the  mother 
would  completely  check  it ;  and  when  she  could  no  longer  re- 
strain the  rising  tears,  she  would  hurry  away  and  pour  out  her 
agony  in  secret.  Every  anxious  look,  every  anxious  inquiry 
of  the  mother,  whenever  a  door  opened,  or  a  strange  face 
appeared,  was  an  arrow  to  her  soul.  She  considered  every  dis- 
appointment as  a  pang  of  her  own  infliction,  and  her  heart 
sickened  under  the  careworn  expression  of  the  maternal  eye. 
At  length  this  suspense  became  insupportable.  She  left  the 
village  and  hastened  to  Honfleur,  hoping  every  hour,  every 
moment,  to  receive  some  tidings  of  her  lover.  She  paced  the 
pier,  and  wearied  the  seamen  of  the  port  with  her  inquiries. 
She  made  a  daily  pilgrimage  to  the  chapel  of  Our  Lady  of 
Grace;  hung  votive  garlands  on  the  wall,  and  passed  hours 
either  kneeling  before  the  altar,  or  looking  out  from  the  brow 
of  the  hill  upon  the  angry  sea. 

At  length  word  was  brought  that  the  long-wished-for  vessel 
was  in  sight.  She  was  seen  standing  into  the  mouth  of  the 
Seine,  shattered  and  crippled,  bearing  marks  of  having  been 
sadly  tempest-tost.  There  was  a  general  joy  diffused  by  her 
return ;  and  there  was  not  a  brighter  eye,  nor  a  lighter  heart, 
than  Annette's,  in  the  little  port  of  Honfleur.  The  ship  came 
to  anchor  in  the  river,  and  shortly  after  a  boat  put  off  for  thg 


218  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

Bhore.  The  populace  crowded  down  to  the  pier-head,  to  wel- 
come it.  Annette  stood  blushing,  and  smiling,  and  trembling, 
and  weeping;  for  a  thousand  painfully-pleasing  emotions  agi- 
tated her  breast  at  the  thoughts  of  the  meeting  and  reconcili- 
ation about  to  take  place. 

Her  heart  throbbed  to  pour  itself  out,  and  atone  to  her  gal- 
lant lover  for  all  its  errors.  At  one  moment  she  would  place 
herself  in  a  conspicuous  situation,  where  she  might  catch  his 
view  at  once,  and  surprise  him  by  her  welcome ;  but  the  next 
moment  a  doubt  would  come  across  her  mind,  and  she  would 
shrink  among  the  throng,  trembling  and  faint,  and  gasping 
with  her  emotions.  Her  agitation  increased  as  the  boat  drew 
near,  until  it  became  distressing ;  and  it  was  almost  a  relief  to 
her  when  she  perceived  that  her  lover  was  not  there.  She 
presumed  that  some  accident  had  detained  him  on  board  of  the 
ship ;  and  she  felt  that  the  delay  would  enable  her  to  gather 
more  self-possession  for  the  meeting.  As  the  boat  neared  the 
shore,  many  inquiries  were  made,  and  laconic  answers  returned. 
At  length  Annette  heard  some  inquiries  after  her  lover.  Her 
heart  palpitated — there  was  a  moment's  pause :  the  reply  was 
brief,  but  awful.  He  had  been  washed  from  the  deck,  with  two 
of  the  crew,  in  the  midst  of  a  stormy  night,  when  it  was  im- 
possible to  render  any  assistance.  A  piercing  shriek  broke  from 
among  the  crowd;  and  Annette  had  nearly  fallen  into  the 
waves. 

The  sudden  revulsion  of  feelings  after  such  a  transient  gleam 
of  happiness,  was  too  much  for  her  harassed  frame.  Sne  was 
carried  home  senseless.  Her  lif e  was  for  some  time  despaired 
of,  and  it  was  months  before  she  recovered  her  health ;  but  she 
never  had  perfectly  recovered  her  mind :  it  still  remained  un- 
settled with  respect  to  her  lover's  fate. 

"  The  subject,"  continued  my  informant,  "  is  never  mentioned 
in  her  hearing ;  but  she  sometimes  speaks  of  it  herself,  and  it 
seems  as  though  there  were  some  vague  train  of  impressions  in 
her  mind,  in  which  hope  and  fear  are  strangely  mingled— some 
imperfect  idea  of  ber  lover's  shipwreck,  and  yet  some  expecta- 
tion of  his  return. 

"Her  parents  have  tried  every  means  to  cheer  her,  and  to 
banish  these  gloomy  images  from  her  thoughts.  They  assemble 
round  her  the  young  companions  in  whose  society  she  used  to 
delight ;  and  they  will  work,  and  chat,  and  sing,  and  laugh,  as 
formerly ;  but  she  will  sit  silently  among  them,  and  will  some- 
times weep  in  the  midst  of  their  gaycty ;  and,  if  spoken  to,  will 


ANNETTE  DELARBRE.  219 

make  no  reply,  but  look  up  with  streaming  eyes,  and  sing 
a  dismal  little  song,  which  she  has  learned  somewhere,  about  a 
shipwreck.  It  makes  every  one's  heart  ache  to  see  her  in  this 
way,  for  she  used  to  be  the  happiest  creature  in  the  village. 

"She  passes  the  greater  part  of  the  time  with  Eugene's 
mother ;  whose  only  consolation  is  her  society,  and  who  dotes 
on  her  with  a  mother's  tenderness.  She  is  the  only  one  that 
has  perfect  influence  over  Annette  in  every  mood.  The  poor 
girl  seems,  as  formerly,  to  make  an  effort  to  be  cheerful  in  her 
company;  but  will  sometimes  gaze  upon  her  with  the  most 
piteous  look,  and  then  kiss  her  gray  hairs,  and  fall  on  her  neck 
and  weep. 

' '  She  is  not  always  melancholy,  however ;  she  has  occasional 
intervals,  when  she  will  be  bright  and  animated  for  days  to- 
gether ;  but  there  is  a  degree  of  wildness  attending  these  fits  of 
gayety,  that  prevents  their  yielding  any  satisfaction  to  her 
friends.  At  such  times  she  will  arrange  her  room,  which  is  all 
covered  with  pictures  of  ships  and  legends  of  saints ;  and  will 
wreathe  a  white  chaplet,  as  if  for  a  wedding,  and  prepare  wed- 
ding ornaments.  She  will  listen  anxiously  at  the  door,  and 
look  frequently  out  at  the  window,  as  if  expecting  some  one's 
arrival.  It  is  supposed  that  at  such  times  she  is  looking  for 
her  lover's  return ;  but,  as  no  one  touches  upon  the  theme,  nor 
mentions  his  name  in  her  presence,  the  current  of  her  thoughts 
is  mere  matter  of  conjecture.  Now  and  then  she  will  make  a 
pilgrimage  to  the  chapel  of  Notre  Dame  de  Grace ;  where  she  will 
pray  for  hours  at  the  altar,  and  decorate  the  images  with  wreaths 
that  she  had  woven ;  or  will  wave  her  handkerchief  from  the 
terrace,  as  you  have  seen,  if  there  is  any  vessel  in  the  distance." 

Upwards  of  a  year,  he  informed  me,  had  now  elapsed  with- 
out effacing  from  her  mind  this  singular  taint  of  insanity; 
still  her  friends  hoped  it  might  gradually  wear  away.  They  f 
had  at  one  time  removed  her  to  a  distant  part  of  the  country, 
in  hopes  that  absence  from  the  scenes  connected  with  her  story 
might  have  a  salutary  effect ;  but,  when  her  periodical  melan- 
choly returned,  she  became  more  restless  and  wretched  than 
usual,  and,  secretly  escaping  from  her  friends,  set  out  on  foot, 
without  knowing  the  road,  on  one  of  her  pilgrimages  to  the 
chapel. 

This  little  story  entirely  drew  my  attention  from  the  gay 
scene  of  the  fete,  and  fixed  it  upon  the  beautiful  Annette. 
While  she  was  yet  standing  on  the  terrace,  the  vesper-bell  was 
rung  from  the  neighbouring  chapel.  She  listened  for  a  moment 


220  BRACEBR1DGE  HALL. 

and  then  drawing  a  small  rosary  from  her  bosom,  walked  in 
that  direction.  Several  of  the  peasantry  followed  her  in 
silence ;  and  I  felt  too  much  interested,  not  to  do  the  same. 

The  chapel,  as  I  said  before,  is  in  the  midst  of  a  grove,  on  the 
high  promontory.  The  inside  is  hung  round  with  little  models 
of  ships,  and  rude  paintings  of  wrecks  and  perils  at  sea,  and 
providential  deli verances — the  votive  offerings  of  captains  and 
crews  that  have  been  saved.  On  entering,  Annette  paused  for 
a  moment  before  a  picture  of  the  virgin,  which,  I  observed,  had 
recently  been  decorated  with  a  wreath  of  artificial  flowers. 
When  she  reached  the  middle  of  the  chapel  she  knelt  down, 
and  those  who  followed  her  involuntarily  did  the  same  at  a 
little  distance.  The  evening  sun  shone  softly  through  the 
checkered  grove  into  one  window  of  the  chapel.  A  perfect 
stillness  reigned  within ;  and  this  stillness  was  the  more  impres- 
sive contrasted  with  the  distant  sound  of  music  and  merriment 
from  the  fair.  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  off  from  the  poor  sup- 
pliant ;  her  lips  moved  as  she  told  her  beads,  but  her  prayers 
were  breathed  in  silence.  It  might  have  been  mere  fancy  ex- 
cited by  the  scene,  that,  as  she  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  I 
thought  they  had  an  expression  truly  seraphic.  But  I  am 
easily  affected  by  female  beauty,  and  there  was  something  in 
this  mixture  of  love,  devotion,  and  partial  insanity,  that  was 
inexpressibly  touching. 

As  the  poor  girl  left  the  chapel,  there  was  a  sweet  serenity  in 
her  looks ;  and  I  was  told  that  she  would  return  home,  and  in 
all  probability  be  calm  and  cheerful  for  days,  and  even  weeks ; 
in  which  time  it  was  supposed  that  hope  predominated  in  her 
mental  malady ;  and  that,  when  the  dark  side  of  her  mind,  as 
her  friends  call  it,  was  about  to  turn  up,  it  would  be  known  by 
her  neglecting  her  distaff  or  her  lace,  singing  plaintive  songs, 
and  weeping  in  silence. 

She  passed  on  from  the  chapel  without  noticing  the  fete,  but 
smiling  and  speaking  to  many  as  she  passed.  I  followed  her 
with  my  eye  as  she  descended  the  winding  road  towards  Hon- 
fleur,  leaning  on  her  father's  arm.  "  Heaven,"  thought  I,  "  has 
ever  its  store  of  balms  for  the  hurt  mind  and  wounded  spirit, 
and  may  in  tune  rear  up  this  broken  flower  to  be  once  more 
the  pride  and  joy  of  the  valley.  The  very  delusion  in  which 
the  poor  girl  walks,  may  be  one  of  those  mists  kindly  diffused 
by  providence  over  the  regions  of  thought,  when  they  become 
too  fruitful  of  misery.  The  veil  may  gradually  be  raised  which 
obscures  the  horizon  of  her  mind,  as  she  is  enabled  steadily  and 


ANNETTE  DELARBHE.  221 

Calmly  to  contemplate  the  sorrows  at  present  hidden,  in  mercy 
from  her  view." 

On  my  return  from  Paris,  about  a  year  afterwards,  I  turned 
off  from  the  beaten  route  at  Rouen,  to  revisit  some  of  the  most 
striking  scenes  of  Lower  Normandy.  Having  passed  through 
the  lovely  country  of  the  Pays  d'Auge,  I  reached  Honfleur  on 
a  fine  afternoon,  intending  to  cross  to  Havre  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  embark  for  England.  As  I  had  no  better  way  of  pass- 
ing the  evening,  I  strolled  up  the  hill  to  enjoy  the  fine  prospect 
from  the  chapel  of  Notre  Dame  de  Grace ;  and  while  there,  I 
thought  of  inquiring  after  the  fate  of  poor  Annette  Delarbre. 
The  priest  who  had  told  me  her  story  was  officiating  at  vespers, 
after  which  I  accosted  him,  and  learnt  from  him  the  remaining 
circumstances.  He  told  me  that  from  the  time  I  had  seen  her 
at  the  chapel,  her  disorder  took  a  sudden  turn  for  the  worse, 
and  her  health  rapidly  declined.  Her  cheerful  intervals  became 
shorter  and  less  frequent,  and  attended  with  more  incoherency. 
She  grew  languid,  silent,  and  moody  in  her  melancholy ;  her 
form  was  wasted,  her  looks  pale  and  disconsolate,  and  it  was 
feared  she  would  never  recover.  She  became  impatient  of  all 
sounds  of  gayety,  and  was  never  so  contented  as  when  Eugene's 
mother  was  near  her.  The  good  woman  watched  over  her 
with  patient,  yearning  solicitude ;  and  in  seeking  to  beguile  her 
sorrows,  would  half  forget  her  own.  Sometimes,  as  she  sat 
looking  upon  her  pallid  face,  the  tears  would  fill  her  eyes, 
which,  when  Annette  perceived,  she  would  anxiously  wipe 
them  away,  and  tell  her  not  to  grieve,  for  that  Eugene  would 
soon  return ;  and  then  she  would  affect  a  forced  gayety,  as  in 
former  times,  and  sing  a  lively  air;  but  a  sudden  recollection 
would  come  over  her,  and  she  would  burst  into  tears,  hang 
on  the  poor  mother's  neck,  and  entreat  her  not  to  curse  her 
for  having  destroyed  her  son. 

Just  at  this  time,  to  the  astonishment  of  every  one,  news  was 
received  of  Eugene ;  who,  it  appeared,  was  still  living.  When 
almost  drowned,  he  had  fortunately  seized  upon  a  spar  which 
had  been  washed  from  the  ship's  deck.  Finding  himself  nearly 
exhausted,  he  had  fastened  himself  to  it,  and  floated  for  a  day 
and  night,  until  all  sense  had  left  him.  On  recovering,  he  had 
found  himself  on  board  a  vessel  bound  to  India,  but  so  ill  as 
not  to  move  without  assistance.  His  health  had  continued 
precarious  throughout  the  voyage ;  on  arriving  in  India,  he  had 
experienced  many  vicissitudes,  and  had  been  transferred  from 


222  URACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

ship  to  ship,  and  hospital  to  hospital.  His  constitution  had 
enabled  him  to  struggle  through  every  hardship ;  and  he  was 
now  in  a  distant  port,  waiting  only  for  the  sailing  of  a  ship  to 
return  home. 

Great  caution  was  necessary  in  imparting  these  tidings  to 
the  mother,  and  even  then  she  was  nearly  overcome  by  the 
transports  of  her  joy.  But  how  to  impart  them  to  Annette, 
was  a  matter  of  still  greater  perplexity.  Her  state  of  mind  had 
been  so  morbid ;  she  had  been  subject  to  such  violent  changes, 
and  the  cause  of  her  derangement  had  been  of  such  an  incon- 
solable and  hopeless  land,  that  her  friends  had  always  forborne 
to  tamper  with  her  f  eelings.  They  had  never  even  hinted  at  the 
subject  of  her  griefs,  nor  encouraged  the  theme  when  she  ad- 
verted to  it,  but  had  passed  it  over  in  silence,  hoping  that  time 
would  gradually  wear  the  traces  of  it  from  her  recollection,  or, 
at  least,  would  render  them  less  painful.  They  now  felt  at  a 
loss  how  to  undeceive  her  even  in  her  misery,  lest  the  sudden 
recurrence  of  happiness  might  confirm  the  estrangement  of  her 
reason,  or  might  overpower  her  enfeebled  frame.  They  ven- 
tured, however,  to  probe  those  wounds  which  they  formerly 
did  not  dare  to  touch,  for  they  now  had  the  balm  to  pour  into 
them.  They  led  the  conversation  to  those  topics  which  they 
had  hitherto  shunned,  and  endeavoured  to  ascertain  the  cur- 
rent of  her  thoughts  in  those  varying  moods  that  had  formerly 
perplexed  them.  They  found,  however,  that  her  mind  was 
even  more  affected  than  they  had  imagined.  All  her  ideas 
were  confused  and  wandering.  Her  bright  and  cheerful  moods, 
which  now  grew  seldomer  than  ever,  were  all  the  effects  of 
mental  delusion.  At  such  times  she  had  no  recollection  of  her 
lover's  having  been  in  danger,  but  was  only  anticipating  his 
arrival.  "  When  the  winter  has  passed  away,"  said  she,  "  and 
the  trees  put  on  their  blossoms,  and  the  swallow  comes  back 
over  the  sea,  he  will  return."  When  she  was  drooping  and 
desponding,  it  was  in  vain  to  remind  her  of  what  she  had  said 
in  her  gayer  moments,  and  to  assure  her  that  Eugene  would 
indeed  return  shortly.  She  wept  on  in  silence,  and  appeared 
insensible  to  their  words.  But  at  times  her  agitation  became 
violent,  when  she  would  upbraid  herself  with  having  driven 
Eugene  from  his  mother,  and  brought  sorrow  on  her  gray 
hairs.  Her  mind  admitted  but  one  leading  idea  at  a  time, 
which  nothing  could  divert  or  efface ;  or  if  they  ever  succeeded 
in  interrupting  the  current  of  her  fancy,  it  only  became  the 
more  incoherent,  and  increased  the  feverishness  that  preyed 


ANNETTE  DELARBRE.  223 

upon  both  mind  and  body.  Her  friends  felt  more  alarm  fof 
her  than  ever,  for  they  feared  that  her  senses  were  irrecovera- 
bly gone,  and  her  constitution  completely  undermined. 

In  the  mean  time,  Eugene  returned  to  the  village.  He  was 
violently  affected,  when,  the  story  of  Annette  was  told  him. 
With  bitterness  of  heart  he  upbraided  his  own  rashness  and 
infatuation  that  had  hurried  him  away  from  her,  and  accused 
himself  as  the  author  of  all  her  woes.  His  mother  would  de- 
scribe to  him  all  the  anguish  and  remorse  of  poor  Annette ;  the 
tenderness  with  which  she  clung  to  her,  and  endeavoured, 
even  in  the  midst  of  her  insanity,  to  console  her  for  the  loss 
of  her  son,  and  the  touching  expressions  of  affection  that  were 
mingled  with  her  most  incoherent  wanderings  of  thought,  until 
his  feelings  would  be  wound  up  to  agony,  and  he  would  entreat 
her  to  desist  from  the  recital.  They  did  not  dare  as  yet  to 
bring  him  into  Annette's  sight;  but  he  was  permitted  to  see 
her  when  she  was  sleeping.  The  tears  streamed  down  his  sun- 
burnt cheeks,  as  he  contemplated  the  ravages  which  grief  and 
malady  had  made ;  and  his  heart  swelled  almost  to  breaking, 
as  he  beheld  round  her  neck  the  very  braid  of  hair  which  she 
once  gave  him  in  token  of  girlish  affection,  and  which  he  had 
returned  to  her  in  anger. 

At  length  the  physician  that  attended  her  determined  to  ad- 
venture upon  an  experiment,  to  take  advantage  of  one  of  those 
cheerful  moods  when  her  mind  was  visited  by  hope,  and  to 
endeavour  to  engraft,  as  it  were,  the  reality  upon  the  delusions 
of  her  fancy.  These  moods  had  now  become  very  rare,  for 
nature  was  sinking  under  the  continual  pressure  of  her  mental 
malady,  and  the  principle  of  reaction  was  daily  growing 
weaker.  Every  effort  was  tried  to  bring  on  a  cheerful  interval 
of  the  kind.  Several  of  her  most  favourite  companions  were 
kept  continually  about  her ;  they  chatted  gayly,  they  laughed, 
and  sang,  and  danced;  but  Annette  reclined  with  languid 
frame  and  hollow  eye,  and  took  no  part  in  their  gayety.  At 
length  the  winter  was  gone ;  the  trees  put  forth  their  leaves ; 
the  swallows  began  to  build  in  the  eaves  of  the  house,  and 
the  robin  and  wren  piped  all  day  beneath  the  window.  An- 
nette's spirits  gradually  revived.  She  began  to  deck  her 
person  with  unusual  care ;  and  bringing  forth  a  basket  of  arti- 
ficial flowers,  she  went  to  work  to  wreathe  a  bridal  chaplet  of 
white  roses.  Her  companions  asked  her  why  she  prepared  the 
chaplet.  "  What!"  said  she  with  a  smile,  "have  you  not  no- 
ticed the  trees  putting  on  their  wedding  dresses  of  blossoms! 


224  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

Has  not  the  swallow  flown  back  over  the  sea  ?  Do  you  not 
know  that  the  time  has  come  for  Eugene  to  return  ?  that  he  will 
be  home  to-morrow,  and  that  on  Sunday  we  are  to  be  married  ?  " 

Her  words  were  repeated  to  the  physician,  and  he  seized  on 
them  at  once.  He  directed  that  her  idea  should  be  encouraged 
and  acted  upon.  Her  words  were  echoed  tlirough  the  house. 
Every  one  talked  of  the  return  of  Eugene,  as  a  matter  of 
course ;  they  congratulated  her  upon  her  approaching  happi- 
ness, and  assisted  her  in  her  preparations.  The  next  morning, 
the  same  theme  was  resumed.  She  was  dressed  out  to  receive 
her  lover.  Every  bosom  fluttered  with  anxiety.  A  cabriolet 
drove  into  the  village.  "Eugene  is  coming!"  was  the  cry. 
She  saw  him  alight  at  the  door,  and  rushed  with  a  shriek  into 
his  arms. 

Her  friends  trembled  for  the  result  of  this  critical  experi- 
ment ;  but  she  did  not  sink  under  it,  for  her  fancy  had  pre- 
pared her  for  his  return.  She  was  as  one  in  a  dream,  to  whom 
a  tide  of  unlooked-for  prosperity,  that  would  have  overwhelmed 
his  waking  reason,  seems  but  the  natural  current  of  circum- 
stances. Her  conversation,  however,  showed  that  her  senses 
were  wandering.  There  was  an  absolute  forgetfulness  of  all 
past  sorrow — a  wild  and  feverish  gayety,  that  at  times  was 
incoherent. 

The  next  morning,  she  awoke  languid  and  exhausted.  All 
the  occurrences  of  the  preceding  day  had  passed  away  from 
her  mind,  as  though  they  had  been  the  mere  illusions  of  her 
fancy.  She  rose  melancholy  and  abstracted,  and,  as  she 
dressed  herself,  was  heard  to  sing  one  of  her  plaintive  ballads. 
When  she  entered  the  parlour,  her  eyes  were  swoln  with 
weeping.  She  heard  Eugene's  voice  without,  and  started.  She 
passed  her  hand  across  her  forehead,  and  stood  musing,  like 
one  endeavouring  to  recall  a  dream.  Eugene  entered  the 
room,  and  advanced  towards  her ;  she  looked  at  him  with  an 
eager,  searching  look,  murmured  some  indistinct  words,  and, 
before  he  could  reach  her,  sank  upon  the  floor. 

She  relapsed  into  a  wild  and  unsettled  state  of  mind;  but 
now  that  the  first  shock  was  over,  the  physician  ordered  that 
Eugene  should  keep  continually  in  her  sight.  Sometimes  she 
did  not  know  him ;  at  other  times  she  would  talk  to  him  as  if 
he  were  going  to  sea,  and  would  implore  him  not  to  part  from 
her  in  anger ;  and  when  he  was  not  present,  she  would  speak 
of  him  as  if  buried  in  the  ocean,  and  would  sit,  with  clasped 
hands,  looking  upon  the  ground,  the  picture  of  despair. 


ANNETTE  DELARBRR  ,     225 

As  the  agitation  of  her  feelings  subsided,  and  her  frame  re- 
covered from  the  shock  which  it  had  received,  she  became 
more  placid  and  coherent.  Eugene  kept  almost  continually 
near  her.  He  formed  the  real  object  round  which  her  scattered 
ideas  once  more  gathered,  and  which  linked  them  once  more 
with  the  realities  of  life.  But  her  changeful  disorder  now 
appeared  to  take  a  new  turn.  She  became  languid  and  inert, 
and  would  sit  for  hours  silent,  and  almost  in  a  state  of  lethargy. 
If  roused  from  this  stupor,  it  seemed  as  if  her  mind  would 
make  some  attempts  to  follow  up  a  train  of  thought,  but  would 
soon  become  confused.  She  would  regard  every  one  that 
approached  her  with  an  anxious  and  inquiring  eye,  that  seemed 
continually  to  disappoint  itself.  Sometimes,  as  her  lover  sat 
holding  her  hand,  she  would  look  pensively  in  his  face  with- 
out saying  a  word,  until  his  heart  was  overcome;  and  after 
these  transient  fits  of  intellectual  exertion,  she  would  sink 
again  into  lethargy. 

By  degrees,  this  stupor  increased;  her  mind  appeared  to 
have  subsided  into  a  stagnant  and  almost  death-like  calm. 
For  the  greater  part  of  the  time,  her  eyes  were  closed ;  her  face 
almost  as  fixed  and  passionless  as  that  of  a  corpse.  She  no 
longer  took  any  notice  of  surrounding  objects.  There  was  an 
awfulness  in  this  tranquillity,  that  filled  her  friends  with 
apprehensions.  The  physician  ordered  that  she  should  be  kept 
perfectly  quiet ;  or  that,  if  she  evinced  any  agitation,  she  should 
be  gently  lulled,  like  a  child,  by  some  favourite  tune. 

She  remained  in  this  state  for  hours,  hardly  seeming  to 
breathe,  and  apparently  sinking  into  the  sleep  of  death.  Her 
chamber  was  profoundly  still.  The  attendants  moved  about  it 
with  noiseless  tread ;  every  thing  was  communicated  by  signs 
and  whispers.  Her  lover  sat  by  her  side,  watching  her  with 
painful  anxiety,  and  fearing  that  every  breath  which  stole  from 
her  pale  lips  would  be  the  last. 

At  length  she  heaved  a  deep  sigh ;  and,  from  some  convul- 
sive motions,  appeared  to  be  troubled  in  her  sleep.  Her  agita- 
tion increased,  accompanied  by  an  indistinct  moaning.  One 
of  her  companions,  remembering  the  physician's  instructions, 
endeavoured  to  lull  her  by  singing,  in  a  low  voice,  a  tender 
little  air,  which  was  a  particxilar  favourite  of  Annette's.  Prob- 
ably it  had  some  connexion  in  her  mind  with  her  own  story ; 
for  every  fond  girl  has  some  ditty  of  the  kind,  linked  in  her 
thoughts  with  sweet  and  sad  remembrances. 

As  she  sang,  the  agitation  of  4nnette  subsided.    A  streak 


226  BRACEliRIDGE  HALL. 

of  faint  colour  came  into  her  cheeks ;  her  eyelids  became  swoln 
with  rising  tears,  which  trembled  there  for  a  moment,  and 
then,  stealing  forth,  coursed  down  her  pallid  cheek.  When 
the  song  was  ended,  she  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  about  her, 
as  one  awakening  in  a  strange  place. 

"  Oh,  Eugene !  Eugene !"  said  she,  "  it  seems  as  if  I  have  had 
a  long  and  dismal  dream ;  what  has  happened,  and  what  has 
been  the  matter  with  me?" 

The  questions  were  embarrassing ;  and  before  they  could  be 
answered,  the  physician,  who  was  in  the  next  room,  entered. 
She  took  him  by  the  hand,  looked  up  in  his  face,  and  made  the 
same  inquiry .  He  endeavoured  to  put  her  off  with  some  evasive 
answer;— "No,  no!"  cried  she,  "  I  know  I  have  been  ill,  and  I 
have  been  dreaming  strangely.  I  thought  Eugene  had  left  us 
— and  that  he  had  gone  to  sea — and  that — and  that  he  was 
drowned!— But  he  has  been  to  sea!"  added  she,  earnestly,  as 
recollection  kept  flashing  upon  her,  "and  he  has  been  wrecked 
— and  we  were  all  so  wretched — and  he  came  home  again  one 
bright  morning — and —  Oh!"  said  she,  pressing  her  hand 
against  her  forehead,  with  a  sickly  smile,  " I  see  how  it  is;  all 
has  not  been  right  here:  I  begin  to  recollect— but  it  is  all  past 
now — Eugene  is  here !  and  his  mother  is  happy — and  we  shall 
never — never  part  again — shall  we,  Eugene?" 

She  sunk  back  in  her  chair,  exhausted ;  the  tears  streamed 
down  her  cheeks.  Her  companions  hovered  round  her,  not 
knowing  what  to  make  of  this  sudden  dawn  of  reason.  Her 
lover  sobbed  aloud.  She  opened  her  eyes  again,  and  looked 
upon  them  with  an  air  of  the  sweetest  acknowledgment.  ' '  You 
are  all  so  good  to  me !"  said  she,  faintly. 

The  physician  drew  the  father  aside.  "Your  daughter's 
mind  is  restored,"  said  he;  "she  is  sensible  that  she  has  been 
dc ranged;  she  is  growing  conscious  of  the  past,  and  conscious 
of  the  present.  All  that  now  remains  is  to  keep  her  calm  and 
quiet  until  her  health  is  re-established,  and  then  let  her  be  mar- 
ried in  God's  name !" 

"The  wedding  took  place,"  continued  the  good  priest,  "but 
a  short  time  since ;  they  were  here  at  the  last  fete  during  their 
honeymoon,  and  a  handsomer  and  happier  couple  was  not  to 
be  seen  as  they  danced  under  yonder  trees.  The  young  man, 
his  wife,  and  mother,  now  live  on  a  fine  farm  at  Pont  1'Eveque ; 
and  that  model  of  a  ship  which  you  see  yonder,  with  white 
flowers  wreathed  round  it,  is  Annette's  offering  of  thanks  to 
Our  Lady  of  Grace,  for  having  listened  to  her  prayers,  and 
protected  her  lover  in  the  houj^Qf  peril." 


ANNETTE  DBLARBRE.  227 

The  captain  having  finished,  there  was  a  momentary  silence. 
The  tender-hearted  Lady  Lillycraft,  who  knew  the  story  by 
heart,  had  led  the  way  in  weeping,  and  indeed  had  often  begun 
to  shed  tears  before  they  had  come  to  the  right  place. 

The  fair  Julia  was  a  little  flurried  at  the  passage  where  wed- 
ding preparations  were  mentioned ;  but  the  auditor  most  affected 
was  the  simple  Phoebe  Wilkins.  She  had  gradually  dropt  her 
work  in  her  lap,  and  sat  sobbing  through  the  latter  part  of  the 
story,  until  towards  the  end,  when  the  happy  reverse  had 
nearly  produced  another  scene  of  hysterics.  "  Go,  take  this 
case  to  my  room  again,  child,"  said  Lady  Lillycraft,  kindly, 
"  and  don't  cry  so  much." 

"I  won't,  an't  please  your  ladyship,  if  I  can  help  it ; — but  I'm 
glad  they  made  all  up  again,  and  were  married." 

By  the  way,  the  case  of  this  lovelorn  damsel  begins  to  make 
some  talk  in  the  household,  especially  among  certain  little 
ladies,  not  far  in  their  teens,  of  whom  she  has  made  confidants. 
She  is  a  great  favourite  with  them  all,  but  particularly  so  since 
she  has  confided  to  them  her  love  secrets.  They  enter  into  her 
concerns  with  all  the  violent  zeal  and  overwhelming  sympathy 
with  which  little  boarding-school  ladies  engage  in  the  politics 
of  a  love  affair. 

I  have  noticed  them  frequently  clustering  about  her  in  private 
conferences,  or  walking  up  and  down  the  garden  terrace  under 
my  window,  listening  to  some  long  and  dolorous  story  of  her 
afflictions ;  of  which  I  could  now  and  then  distinguish  the  ever- 
ecurring  phrases,  "  says  he,"  and  "  says  she." 

I  accidentally  interrupted  one  of  these  little  councils  of  war, 
when  they  were  all  huddled  together  under  a  tree,  and  seemed 
to  be  earnestly  considering  some  interesting  document.  The 
flutter  at  my  approach  showed  that  there  were  some  secrets 
under  discussion;  and  I  observed  the  disconsolate  Phoebe 
crumpling  into  her  bosom  either  a  love-letter  or  an  old  valen- 
tine, and  brushing  away  the  tears  from  her  cheeks. 

The  girl  is  a  good  girl,  of  a  soft  melting  nature,  and  shows 
her  concern  at  the  cruelty  of  her  lover  only  in  tears  and  droop- 
ing looks;  but  with  the  little  ladies  who  have  espoused  her 
cause,  it  sparkles  up  into  fiery  indignation :  and  I  have  noticed 
on  Sunday  many  a  glance  darted  at  the  pew  of  the  Tibbets's, 
enough  even  to  melt  down  the  silver  buttons  on  old  Ready- 
Money's  jacket. 


228  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


TRAVELLING. 

A.  citizen,  for  recreation  sake, 

To  see  the  country  would  a  journey  take 

Borne  dozen  mile,  or  very  little  more; 

Taking  his  leave  with  friends  two  months  before, 

With  drinking  healths,  and  shaking  by  the  hand. 

As  he  had  travail'd  to  some  new-found  land. 

—Doctor  Mrrrie-Man,  1609. 

THE  Squire  has  lately  received  another  shock  in  the  saddle, 
and  been  almost  unseated  by  his  marplot  neighbour,  the  inde- 
fatigable Mr.  Faddy,  who  rides  his  jog-trot  hobby  with  equal 
zeal ;  and  is  so  bent  upon  improving  and  reforming  the  neigh- 
bourhood, that  the  Squire  thinks,  in  a  little  while,  it  will  be 
scarce  worth  living  in.  The  enormity  that  has  thus  discom- 
posed my  worthy  host,  is  an  attempt  of  the  manufacturer  to 
have  a  line  of  coaches  established,  that  shall  diverge  from  the 
old  route,  and  pass  through  the  neighbouring  village. 

I  believe  I  have  mentioned  that  the  Hall  is  situated  in  a 
retired  part  of  the  country,  at  a  distance  from  any  great  coach- 
road  ;  insomuch  that  the  arrival  of  a  traveller  is  apt  to  make 
every  one  look  out  of  the  window,  and  to  cause  some  talk 
among  the  ale-drinkers  at  the  little  inn.  I  was  at  a  loss,  there- 
fore, to  account  for  the  Squire's  indignation  at  a  measure 
apparently  fraught  with  convenience  and  advantage,  until  I 
found  that  the  conveniences  of  travelling  were  among  his 
greatest  grievances. 

In  fact,  he  rails  against  stage-coaches,  post-chaises,  and  turn- 
pike-roads, as  serious  causes  of  the  corruption  of  English  rural 
manners.  They  have  given  facilities,  he  says,  to  every  hum- 
drum citizen  to  trundle  his  family  about  the  kingdom,  and 
j  have  sent  the  follies  and  fashions  of  town,  whirling,  in  coach- 
loads, to  the  remotest  parts  of  the  island.  The  whole  country, 
he  says,  is  traversed  by  these  flying  cargoes  •,  every  by-road  is 
explored  by  enterprising  tourists  from  Cheapside  and  the 
Poultry,  and  every  gentleman's  park  and  lawns  invaded  by 
cockney  sketchers  of  both  sexes,  with  portable  chairs  and  port- 
folios for  drawing. 

He  laments  over  this,  as  destroying  the  charm  of  privacy, 
and  interrupting  the  quiet  of  country  life ;  but  more  especially 
as  affecting  the  simplicity  of  the  peasantry,  and  filling  their 
heads  with  half -city  notions.  A  great  coach-inn,  he  says,  is 
enough  to  ruin  the  manners  of  a  whole  village.  It  creates  a 


TRAVELLING.  229 

horde  of  sots  and  idlers,  makes  gapers  and  gazers  and  news- 
mongers of  the  common  people,  and  knowing  jockeys  of  the 
country  bumpkins. 

The  Squire  has  something  of  the  old  feudal  f eeling.  He  looks 
back  with  regret  to  the  '*  good  old  times"  when  journeys  were 
only  made  on  horseback,  and  the  extraordinary  difficulties  of. 
travelling,  owing  to  bad  roads,  bad  accommodations,  and  high- 
way robbers,  seemed  to  separate  each  village  and  hamlet  from 
the  rest  of  the  world.  The  lord  of  the  manor  was  then  a  kind 
of  monarch  in  the  little  realm  around  him.  He  held  his  court 
in  his  paternal  hall,  and  was  looked  up  to  with  almost  as  much 
loyalty  and  deference  as  the  king  himself.  Every  neighbour- 
hood was  a  little  world  within  itself,  having  its  local  manners 
and  customs,  its  local  history  and  local  opinions.  The  inhabi- 
tants were  fonder  of  their  homes,  and  thought  less  of  wandering. 
It  was  looked  upon  as  an  expedition  to  travel  out  of  sight  of  the 
parish  steeple ;  and  a  man  that  had  been  to  London  was  a  vil- 
lage oracle  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

What  a  difference  between  the  mode  of  travelling  in  those 
days  and  at  present !  At  that  time,  when  a  gentleman  went  on 
a  distant  visit,  he  sallied  forth  like  a  knight-errant  on  an  enter- 
prise, and  every  family  excursion  was  a  pageant.  How  splendid 
and  fanciful  must  one  of  those  domestic  cavalcades  have  been, 
where  the  beautiful  dames  were  mounted  on  palfreys  magnifi- 
cently caparisoned,  with  embroidered  harness,  all  tinkling  with 
silver  bells,  attended  by  cavaliers  richly  attired  on  prancing 
steeds,  and  followed  by  pages  and  serving-men,  as  we  see  them 
represented  in  old  tapestry!  The  gentry,  as  they  travelled 
about  in  those  days,  were  like  moving  pictures.  They  delighted 
the  eyes  and  awakened  the  admiration  of  the  common  people, 
and  passed  before  them  like  superior  beings ;  and,  indeed,  they 
were  so ;  there  was  a  hardy  and  healthful  exercise  connected 
with  this  equestrian  style  that  made  them  generous  and  noble. 

In  bis  fondness  for  the  old  style  of  travelling,  the  Squire 
makes  most  of  his  journeys  on  horseback,  though  he  laments 
the  modern  deficiency  of  incident  on  the  road,  from  the  want 
of  fellow- wayfarers,  and  the  rapidity  with  which  every  one  else 
is  whirled  along  in  coaches  and  post-chaises.  In  the  ' '  good  old 
times,"  on  the  contrary,  a  cavalier  jogged  on  through  bog  and 
mire,  from  town  to  town  and  hamlet  to  hamlet,  conversing 
with  friars  and  franklins,  and  all  other  chance  companions  of 
the  road ;  beguiling  the  way  with  travellers'  tales,  which  then 
were  truly  wonderful,  for  every  thing  beyond  one's  neighbour- 


230  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

hood  was  full  of  marvel  and  romance;  stopping  at  night  at 
some  "hostel,"  where  the  bush  over  the  door  proclaimed  good 
wine,  or  a  pretty  hostess  made  bad  wine  palatable ;  meeting  at 
supper  with  travellers,  or  listening  to  the  song  or  merry  story 
of  the  host,  who  was  generally  a  boon  companion,  and  presided 
at  his  own  board;  for,  according  to  old  Tusser's  " Innholder's 
Posie," 

"  At  meales  my  friend  who  vitleth  here 

And  sitteth  with  his  host, 
Shall  both  be  sure  of  better  cheere, 
And  'scape  with  lesser  cost." 

The  Squire  is  fond,  too,  of  stopping  at  those  inns  which  may 
be  met  with  here  and  there  in  ancient  houses  of  wood  and 
plaster,  or  calimanco  houses,  as  they  are  called  by  antiquaries, 
with  deep  porches,  diamond-paned  bow-windows,  pannelled 
rooms,  and  great  fire-places.  He  will  prefer  them  to  more  spa- 
cious and  modern  inns,  and  would  cheerf  ully  put  up  with  bad 
cheer  and  bad  accommodations  in  the  gratification  of  his  hu- 
mour. They  give  him,  he  says,  the  feelings  of  old  times,  inso- 
much that  he  almost  expects  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening  to  see 
some  party  of  weary  travellers  ride  up  to  the  door  with  plumes 
and  mantles,  trunk-hose,  wide  boots,  and  long  rapiers. 

The  good  Squire's  remarks  brought  to  mind  a  visit  that  I 
once  paid  to  the  Tabbard  Inn,  famous  for  being  the  place  of 
assemblage  from  whence  Chaucer's  pilgrims  set  forth  for  Can- 
terbury. It  is  in  the  borough  of  Southwark,  not  far  from  Lon- 
don Bridge,  and  bears,  at  present,  the  name  of  "the  Talbot." 
It  has  sadly  declined  in  dignity  since  the  days  of  Chaucer, 
being  a  mere  rendezvous  and  packing-place  of  the  great  wagons 
that  travel  into  Kent.  The  court-yard,  which  was  anciently  the 
mustering-place  of  the  pilgrims  previous  to  their  departure, 
was  now  lumbered  with  huge  wagons.  Crates,  boxes,  ham- 
pers, and  baskets,  containing  the  good  things  of  town  and 
country,  were  piled  about  them ;  while,  among  the  straw  and 
litter,  the  motherly  hens  scratched  and  clucked,  with  their 
hungry  broods  at  their  heels.  Instead  of  Chaucer's  motley  and 
splendid  throng,  I  only  saw  a  group  of  wagoners  and  stable- 
boys  enjoying  a  circulating  pot  of  ale ;  while  a  long-bodied  dog 
sat  by,  with  head  on  one  side,  ear  cocked  up,  and  wistful  gaze, 
as  if  waiting  for  his  turn  at  the  tankard. 

Notwithstanding  this  grievous  declension,  however,  I  was 
gratified  at  perceiving  that  the  present  occupants  were  not  un- 
conscious of  the  poetical  renown  of  their  mansion.  An  inscrip- 


TEA  YELLING.  231 

tion  over  the  gateway  proclaimed  it  to  be  the  inn  where  Chau- 
cer's pilgrims  slept  on  the  night  previous  to  their  departure ; 
and  at  the  bottom  of  the  yard  was  a  magnificent  sign  represent- 
ing them  in  the  act  of  sallying  forth.  I  was  pleased,  too,  at 
noticing  that  though  the  present  inn  was  comparatively  mod- 
ern, yet  the  form  of  the  old  inn  was  preserved.  There  were 
galleries  round  the  yard,  as  in  old  tunes,  on  which  opened  the 
chambers  of  the  guests.  To  these  ancient  inns  have  antiqua- 
ries ascribed  the  present  forms  of  our  theatres.  Plays  were 
originally  acted  in  inn-yards.  The  guests  lolled  over  the  gal- 
leries, which  answered  to  our  modern  dress-circle ;  the  critical 
mob  clustered  in  the  yard,  instead  of  the  pit ;  and  the  groups 
gazing  from  the  garret- windows  were  no  bad  representatives  of 
the  gods  of  the  shilling  gallery.  When,  therefore,  the  drama 
grew  important  enough  to  have  a  house  of  its  own,  the  archi- 
tects took  a  hint  for  its  construction  from  the  yard  of  the 
ancient  "hostel." 

I  was  so  well  pleased  at  finding  these  remembrances  of 
Chaucer  and  his  poem,  that  I  ordered  my  dinner  in  the  little 
parlour  of  the  Talbot.  Whilst  it  was  preparing,  I  sat  at  the 
window  musing  and  gazing  into  the  court-yard,  and  conjuring 
up  recollections  of  the  scenes  depicted  in  such  lovely  colours  by 
the  poet,  until,  by  degrees,  boxes,  bales  and  hampers,  boys, 
wagoners  and  dogs,  faded  from  sight,  and  my  fancy  peopled 
the  place  with  the  motley  throng  of  Canterbury  pilgrims.  The 
galleries  once  more  swarmed  with  idle  gazers,  in  the  rich 
dresses  of  Chaucer's  time,  and  the  whole  cavalcade  seemed  to 
pass  before  me.  There  was  the  stately  knight  on  sober  steed, 
who  had  ridden  in  Christendom  and  heathenesse,  and  had 
"foughten  for  our  faith  at  Tramissene ;"— and  his  son,  the 
young  squire,  a  lover,  and  a  lusty  bachelor,  with  curled  locks 
and  gay  embroidery;  a  bold  rider,  a  dancer,  and  a  writer  of 
verses,  singing  and  fluting  all  day  long,  and  "fresh  as  the 
month  of  May;" — and  his  "knot-headed"  yeoman;  a  bold 
forester,  in  green,  with  horn,  and  baudrick,  and  dagger,  a 
mighty  bow  in  hand,  and  a  sheaf  of  peacock  arrows  shining 
beneath  his  belt ; — and  the  coy,  smiling,  simple  nun,  with  her 
gray  eyes,  her  small  red  mouth,  and  fair  forehead,  her  dainty 
person  clad  in  featly  cloak  and  "  'ypinched  wimple,"  her  choral 
beads  about  her  arm,  her  golden  brooch  with  a  love  motto,  and 
her  pretty  oath  by  Saint  Eloy ; — and  the  merchant,  solemn  in 
speech  and  high  on  horse,  with  forked  beard  and  "  Flaundrish 
bever  hat;" — and  the  lusty  monk,  "full  fat  and  in  good  point," 


232  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

with  berry  brown  palfrey,  his  hood  fastened  with  gold  pin, 
wrought  with  a  love-knot,  his  bald  head  shining  like  glass,  and 
bis  face  glistening  as  though  it  had  been  anointed;  and  the 
lean,  logical,  sententious  clerk  of  Oxenforde,  upon  his  half- 
gtarved,  scholar-like  horse ; — and  the  bowsing  sompnour,  with 
fiery  cherub  face,  all  knobbed  with  pimples,  an  eater  of  garlic 
and  onions,  and  drinker  of  "strong  wine,  red  as  blood,"  that 
carried  a  cake  for  a  buckler,  and  babbled  Latin  in  his  cups ;  of 
whose  brimstone  visage  "children  were  sore  aferd;" — and  the 
buxom  wife  of  Bath,  the  widow  of  five  husbands,  upon  her 
ambling  nag,  with  her  hat  broad  as  a  buckler,  her  red  stock- 
ings and  sharp  spurs ; — and  the  slender,  choleric  reeve  of  Nor- 
folk, bestriding  his  good  gray  stot;  with  close-shaven  beard. 
his  hair  cropped  round  his  ears,  long,  lean,  calfless  legs,  and  a 
rusty  blade  by  his  side ; — and  the  jolly  Limitour,  with  lisping 
tongue  and  twinkling  eye,  well-beloved  franklins  and  house- 
wives, a  great  promoter  of  marriages  among  young  women, 
known  at  the  taverns  in  every  town,  and  by  every  "hosteler 
and  gay  tapstere."  In  short,  before  I  was  roused  from  my 
reverie  by  the  less  poetical  but  more  substantial  apparition  of  a 
smoking  beef -steak,  I  had  seen  the  whole  cavalcade  issue  forth 
from  the  hostel-gate,  with  the  brawny,  double-jointed,  red- 
haired  miller,  playing  the  bagpipes  before  them,  and  the 
ancient  host  of  the  Tabbard  giving  them  his  farewell  God-send 
to  Canterbury. 

When  I  told  the  Squire  of  the  existence  of  this  legitimate 
descendant  of  the  ancient  Tabbard  Inn,  his  eyes  absolutely 
glistened  with  delight.  He  determined  to  hunt  it  up  the  very 
first  time  he  visited  London,  and  to  eat  a  dinner  there,  and 
drink  a  cup  of  mine  host's  best  wine  in  memory  of  old  Chaucer. 
The  general,  who  happened  to  be  present,  immediately  begged 
to  be  of  the  party ;  for  he  liked  to  encourage  these  long-estab- 
lished houses,  as  they  are  apt  to  have  choice  old  wines. 


POPULAR  SUPERSTITIONS.  233 


POPULAR  SUPERSTITIONS. 

Farewell  rewards  and  fairies, 

Good  housewives  now  may  say; 
For  now  fowle  sluts  in  dairies 

Do  fare  as  well  as  they; 
And  though  they  sweepe  their  hearths  no  lesse 

Than  maids  were  wont  to  doo, 
Yet  who  of  late  for  cleanlinesse 

Finds  sixpence  in  her  shooe?— BISHOP  CORBET. 

I  HAVE  mentioned  the  Squire's  fondness  for  the  marvellous, 
and  his  predilection  for  legends  and  romances.  His  library 
contains  a  curious  collection  of  old  works  of  this  kind,  which 
bear  evident  marks  of  having  been  much  read.  In  his  great 
love  for  all  that  is  antiquated,  he  cherishes  popular  supersti- 
tions, and  listens,  with  very  grave  attention,  to  every  tale, 
however  strange ;  so  that,  through  his  countenance,  the  house- 
hold, and,  indeed,  the  whole  neighbourhood,  is  well  stocked 
with  wonderful  stories;  and  if  ever  a  doubt  is  expressed 
of  any  one  of  them,  the  narrator  will  generally  observe,  that 
"  the  Squire  thinks  there's  something  in  it." 

The  Hall  of  course  comes  in  for  its  share,  the  common  people 
having  always  a  propensity  to  furnish  a  great  superannuated 
building  of  the  kind  with  supernatural  inhabitants.  The 
gloomy  galleries  of  such  old  family  mansions;  the  stately 
chambers,  adorned  with  grotesque  carvings  and  faded  paint- 
ings ;  the  sounds  that  vaguely  echo  about  them ;  the  moaning 
of  the  wind ;  the  cries  of  rooks  and  ravens  from  the  trees  and 
chimney-tops ;  all  produce  a  state  of  mind  f ovourable  to  super- 
stitious fancies. 

In  one  chamber  of  the  Hall,  just  opposite  a  door  which  opens 
upon  a  dusky  passage,  there  is  a  full-length  portrait  of  a  war- 
rior  in  armour ;  when,  on  suddenly  turning  into  the  passage,  I 
have  caught  a  sight  of  the  portrait,  thrown  into  strong  relief 
by  the  dark  pannelling  against  which  it  hangs,  I  have  more 
than  once  been  startled,  as  though  it  were  a  figure  advancing 
towards  me. 

To  superstitious  minds,  therefore,  predisposed  by  the  strange 
and  melancholy  stories  that  are  connected  with  family  paint- 
ings, it  needs  >.  ut  little  stretch  of  fancy,  on  a  moonlight  night, 
or  by  the  flickering  light  of  a  candle,  to  set  the  old  pictures  on 


234  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

the  walls  in  motion,  sweeping  in  their  robes  and  trains  about 
the  galleries. 

To  tell  the  truth,  the  Squire  confesses  that  he  used  to  take  a 
pleasure  in  his  younger  days  in  setting  marvellous  stories 
afloat,  and  connecting  them  with  the  lonely  and  peculiar 
places  of  the  neighbourhood.  Whenever  he  read  any  legend 
of  a  striking  nature,  he  endeavoured  to  transplant  it,  and  give'1 
it  a  local  habitation  among  the  scenes  of  his  boyhood.  Many 
of  these  stories  took  root,  and  he  says  he  is  often  amused  with 
the  odd  shapes  in  which  they  will  come  back  to  him  in  some 
old  woman's  narrative,  after  they  have  been  circulating  for 
years  among  the  peasantry,  and  undergoing  rustic  additions 
and  amendments.  Among  these  may  doubtless  be  numbered 
that  of  the  crusader's  ghost,  which  I  have  mentioned  in  the 
account  of  my  Christmas  visit;  and  another  about  the  hard- 
riding  Squire  of  yore ;  the  family  Nimrod ;  who  is  sometimes 
heard  in  stormy  winter  nights,  galloping,  with  hound  and  horn, 
over  a  wild  moor  a  few  miles  distant  from  the  Hall.  This  I 
apprehend  to  have  had  its  origin  in  the  famous  story  of  the 
wild  huntsman,  the  favourite  goblin  in  German  tales;  though, 
by-the-by,  as  I  was  talking  on  the  subject  with  Master  Simon 
the  other  evening  in  the  dark  avenue,  he  hinted  that  he  had 
himself  once  or  twice  heard  odd  sounds  at  night,  very  like  a 
pack  of  hounds  in  cry;  and  that  once,  as  he  was  returning 
rather  late  from  a  hunting  dinner,  he  had  seen  a  strange  figure 
galloping  along  this  same  moor;  but  as  he  was  riding  rather 
fast  at  the  time,  and  in  a  hurry  to  get  home,  he  did  not  stop  to 
ascertain  what  it  was. 

Popular  superstitions  are  fast  fading  away  in  England,  owing 
to  the  general  diffusion  of  knowledge,  and  the  bustling  inter- 
course kept  up  throughout  the  country ;  still  they  have  their 
strong-holds  and  lingering  places,  and  a  retired  neighbourhood 
like  this  is  apt  to  be  one  of  them.  The  parson  tells  me  that  he 
meets  with  many  traditional  beliefs  and  notions  among  the 
common  people,  which  he  has  been  able  to  draw  from  them  in 
the  course  of  familiar  conversation,  though  they  are  rather  shy 
of  avowing  them  to  strangers,  and  particularly  to  "the  gentry," 
who  are  apt  to  laugh  at  them.  He  says  there  are  several  of  his 
old  parishioners  who  remember  when  the  village  had  its  bar- 
guest,  or  bar-ghost — a  spirit  supposed  to  belong  to  a  town  or 
village,  and  to  predict  any  impending  misfortune  by  midnight 
shrieks  and  wailings.  The  last  time  it  was  heard  was  just 
before  the  death  of  Mr.  Bracebridge's  father,  who  was  much 


POPULAR  SUPERSTITIONS.  .    235 

beloved  throughout  the  neighbourhood ;  though  there  are  not 
wanting  some  obstinate  unbelievers,  who  insisted  that  it  was 
nothing  but  the  howling  of  a  watch-dog.  I  have  been  greatly 
delighted,  however,  at  meeting  with  some  traces  of  my  old 
favourite,  Eobin  Qoodfellow,  though  under  a  different  appella- 
tion from  any  of  those  by  which  I  have  heretofore  heard  him 
called.  The  parson  assures  me  that  many  of  the  peasantry 
believe  in  household  goblins,  called  Dubbies,  which  live  about 
particular  farms  and  houses,  in  the  same  way  that  Robin  Good- 
fellow  did  of  old.  Sometimes  they  haunt  the  barns  and  out- 
houses, and  now  and  then  will  assist  the  farmer  wonderfully, 
by  getting  in  all  his  hay  or  corn  in  a  single  night.  In  general, 
however,  they  prefer  to  live  within  doors,  and  are  fond  of 
keeping  about  the  great  hearths,  and  basking,  at  night,  after 
the  family  have  gone  to  bed,  by  the  glowing  embers.  When 
put  in  particular  good-humour  by  the  warmth  of  their  lodg- 
ings, and  the  tidiness  of  the  house-maids,  they  will  overcome 
their  natural  laziness,  and  do  a  vast  deal  of  household  work 
before  morning;  churning  the  cream,  brewing  the  beer,  or 
spinning  all  the  good  dame's  flax.  All  this  is  precisely  the 
conduct  of  Robin  Goodfellow,  described  so  charmingly  by 
Milton: 

"  Tells  how  the  drudging  goblin  sweat 
To  earn  his  cream-bowl  duly  set, 
When  in  one  night,  ere  glimpse  of  morn, 
His  shadowy  flail  had  thresh'd  the  corn 
That  ten  day-labourers  could  not  end; 
Then  lays  him  down  the  lubber-fiend, 
And,  stretch 'd  out  all  the  chimney's  length, 
Basks  at  the  fire  his  hairy  strength, 
And  crop-full,  out  of  door  he  flings 
Ere  the  first  cock  his  matin  rings." 

But  beside  these  household  Dubbies,  there  are  others  of  a 
more  gloomy  and  unsocial  nature,  that  keep  about  lonely  barns 
at  a  distance  from  any  dwelling-house,  or  about  ruins  and  old 
bridges.  These  are  full  of  mischievous  and  often  malignant 
tricks,  and  are  fond  of  play  ing  pranks  upon  benighted  travellers. 
There  is  a  story,  among  the  old  people,  of  one  that  haunted  a 
ruined  mill,  just  by  a  bridge  that  crosses  a  small  stream ;  how 
that,  late  one  night,  as  a  traveller  was  passing  on  horseback, 
the  Dubbie  jumped  up  behind  him,  and  grasped  him  so  close 
round  the  body  that  he  had  no  power  to  help  himself,  but  ex- 
pected to  be  squeezed  to  death :  luckily  his  heels  were  loose, 
with  which  he  plied  the  sides  of  his  steed,  and  was  carried, 


236  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

with  the  wonderful  instinct  of  a  traveller's  horse,  straight  to 
the  village  inn.  Had  the  inn  been  at  any  greater  distance, 
there  is  no  doubt  but  he  would  have  been  strangled  to  death ; 
as  it  was,  the  good  people  were  a  long  time  in  bringing  him  to 
his  senses,  and  it  was  remarked  that  the  first  sign  he  showed 
of  returning  consciousness  was  to  call  for  a  bottom  of  brandy. 

These  mischievous  Dubbies  bear  much  resemblance  in  their 
natures  and  habits  to  those  sprites  which  Heywood,  in  his 
Heirarchie,  calls  pugs  or  hobgoblins : 

" Their  dwellings  be 

In  corners  of  old  houses  least  frequented 

Or  beneath  stacks  of  wood,  and  these  con  vented, 

Make  fearfull  noise  in  butteries  and  in  dairies; 

Robin  Qoodfellow  some,  some  call  them  fairies. 

In  solitarie  rooms  these  uprores  Jceep, 

And  beate  at  doores,  to  wake  men  from  their  slepe, 

Seeming  to  force  lockes,  be  they  nere  so  strong, 

And  keeping  Christmassy  gambols  all  night  long. 

Pots,  glasses,  trenchers,  dishes,  pannes  and  kettles. 

They  will  make  dance  about  the  shelves  and  settles, 

As  if  about  the  kitchen  tost  and  cast, 

Tet  in  the  morning  nothing  found  misplac't. 

Others  such  houses  to  their  use  hare  fitted. 

In  which  base  murthers  have  been  once  committed. 

Some  have  their  fearful  habitations  taken 

In  desolate  houses,  ruin'd  and  forsaken." 

In  the  account  of  our  unfortunate  hawking  expedition,  I 
mentioned  an  instance  of  one  of  these  sprites,  supposed  to 
haunt  the  ruined  grange  that  stands  in  a  lonely  meadow,  and 
has  a  remarkable  echo.  The  parson  informs  me,  also,  that  the 
belief  was  once  very  prevalent,  that  a  household  Dubbie  kept 
about  the  old  farm-house  of  the  Tibbete.  It  has  long  been 
traditional,  he  says,  that  one  of  these  good-natured  goblins  is 
attached  to  the  Tibbete  family,  and  came  with  them  when  they 
moved  into  this  part  of  the  country ;  for  it  is  one  of  the  pecu- 
liarities of  these  household  sprites,  that  they  attach  themselves 
to  the  fortunes  of  certain  families,  and  follow  them  in  all  their 
removals. 

There  is  a  large  old-fashioned  fire-place  in  the  farm-house, 
which  affords  fine  quarters  for  a  chimney-corner  sprite  that 
likes  to  be  warm;  especially  as  Ready -Money  Jack  keeps  up 
rousing  fires  in  the  winter-time.  The  old  people  of  the  village 
recollect  many  stories  about  this  goblin,  that  were  current  in 
their  young  days.  It  was  thought  to  have  brought  good  luck 
to  the  house,  and  to  be  the  reason  why  the  Tibbete  were  always 
beforehand  in  the  world,  and  why  their  farm  was  always  in 


POPULAR  SUPERSTITIONS.  237 

better  order,  their  hay  got  in  sooner,  and  their  corn  better 
stacked,  than  that  of  their  neighbours.  The  present  Mrs.  Tib- 
bets,  at  the  time  of  her  courtship,  had  a  number  of  these  stories 
told  her  by  the  country  gossips;  and  when  married,  was  a 
little  fearful  about  living  in  a  house  where  such  a  hobgoblin 
was  said  to  haunt :  Jack,  however,  who  has  always  treated  this 
story  with  great  contempt,  assured  her  that  there  was  no  spirit 
kept  about  his  house  that  he  could  not  at  any  time  lay  in  the 
Eed  Sea  with  one  flourish  of  his  cudgel.  Still  his  wife  has 
never  got  completely  over  her  notions  on  the  subject,  but  has  a 
horseshoe  nailed  on  the  threshold,  and  keeps  a  branch  of  raun- 
try,  or  mountain  ash,  with  its  red  berries,  suspended  from  one 
of  the  great  beams  in  the  parlour — a  sure  protection  from  all 
evil  spirits. 

These  stories,  however,  as  I  before  observed,  are  fast  fading 
away,  and  in  another  generation  or  two  will  probably  be  com- 
pletely forgotten.  There  is  something,  however,  about  these 
rural  superstitions,  that  is  extremely  pleasing  to  the  imagina- 
tion; particularly  those  which  relate  to  the  good-humoured 
race  of  household  demons,  and  indeed  to  the  whole  fairy  my- 
thology. The  English  have  given  an  inexplicable  charm  to 
these  superstitions,  by  the  manner  in  which  they  have  asso- 
ciated them  with  whatever  is  most  homefelt  and  delightful  in 
nature.  I  do  not  know  a  more  fascinating  race  of  beings  than 
these  little  fabled  people,  that  haunted  the  southern  sides  of 
hills  and  mountains,  lurked  in  flowers  and  about  fountain-heads, 
glided  through  key-holes  into  ancient  halls,  watched  over 
farm-houses  and  dairies,  danced  on  the  green  by  summer  moon- 
light, and  on  the  kitchen-hearth  in  winter.  They  seem  to 
accord  with  the  nature  of  English  housekeeping  and  English 
scenery.  I  always  have  them  in  mind,  when  I  see  a  fine  old 
English  mansion,  with  its  wide  hall  and  spacious  kitchen ;  or  a 
venerable  farm-house,  in  which  there  is  so  much  fireside  com- 
fort and  good  housewifery.  There  was  something  of  national 
character  in  their  love  of  order  and  cleanliness ;  in  the  vigilance 
with  which  they  watched  over  the  economy  of  the  kitchen,  and 
the  functions  of  the  servants;  munificently  rewarding,  with 
silver  sixpence  in  shoe,  the  tidy  housemaid,  but  venting  their 
direful  wrath,  in  midnight  bobs  and  pinches,  upon  the  sluttish 
dairymaid.  I  think  I  can  trace  the  good  effects  of  this  ancient 
fairy  sway  over  household  concerns,  in  the  care  that  prevails 
to  the  present  day  among  English  housemaids,  to  put  their 
kitchens  in  order  before  they  go  to  bed. 


238  BRACEERIDOE  HALL. 

I  have  said,  too,  that  these  fairy  superstitions  seemed  to  me 
to  accord  with  the  nature  of  English  scenery.  They  suit  these 
small  landscapes,  which  are  divided  by  honeysuckled  hedges 
into  sheltered  fields  and  meadows,  where  the  grass  is  mingled 
with  daisies,  buttercups,  and  harebells.  When  I  first  found 
myself  among  English  scenery,  I  was  continually  reminded  of 
the  sweet  past  HIM!  images  which  distinguish  their  fairy  my- 
thology ;  and  when  for  the  first  time  a  circle  in  the  grass  was 
pointed  out  to  me  as  one  of  the  rings  where  they  were  formerly 
supposed  to  have  held  their  moonlight  revels,  it  seemed  for  a 
moment  as  if  fairy-land  were  no  longer  a  fable.  Brown,  in  his 
Britannia's  Pastorals,  gives  a  picture  of  the  kind  of  scenery  to 
which  I  allude: 

" A  pleasant  mead 

Where  fairies  often  did  their  measures  tread ; 
Whjch  in  the  meadows  make  such  circles  green, 
As  if  with  garlands  it  had  crowned  been. 
Within  one  of  these  rounds  was  to  be  seen 
A  hillock  rise,  where  oft  the  fairy  queen 
At  twilight  sat." 

And  there  is  another  picture  of  the  same,  in  a  poem  ascribed  to 
Ben  Jonson. 

"  By  wells  and  rills  in  meadows  green, 

We  nightly  dance  our  heyday  guise, 
And  to  our  fairy  king  and  queen 

We  chant  our  moonlight  minstrelsies." 

Indeed,  it  seems  to  me,  that  the  older  British  poets,  with  that 
true  feeling  for  nature  which  distinguishes  them,  have  closely 
adhered  to  the  simple  and  familiar  imagery  which  they  found 
in  these  popular  superstitions ;  and  have  thus  given  to  their 
fairy  mythology  those  continual  allusions  to  the  farm-house 
and  the  dairy,  the  green  meadow  and  the  fountain-head,  that 
fill  our  minds  with  the  delightful  associations  of  rural  life.  I 
is  curious  to  observe  how  the  most  beautiful  fictions  have  their 
origin  among  the  rude  and  ignorant.  There  is  an  indescribable 
charm  about  the  illusions  with  which  Chimerical  ignorance  once 
clothed  every  subject.  These  twilight  views  of  nature  are 
often  more  captivating  than  any  which  are  revealed  by  the 
rays  of  enlightened  philosophy.  The  most  accomplished  and 
poetical  minds,  therefore,  have  been  fain  to  search  back  into 
these  accidental  conceptions  of  what  are  termed  barbarous  ages, 
and  to  draw  from  them  their  finest  imagery  and  machinery. 
If  we  look  through  our  most  admired  poets,  we  shall  find  that 
their  minds  have  been  impregnated  by  these  popular  fancies, 


POPULAR  SUPERSTITIONS.  239 

and  that  those  have  succceeded  best  wno  have  adhered  closest  to 
the  simplicity  of  their  rustic  originals.  Such  is  the  case  with 
Shakspeare  in  his  Midsummer-Night's  Dream,  which  so  minutely 
describes  the  employments  and  amusements  of  fairies,  and  em- 
bodies all  the  notions  concerning  them  which  were  current 
among  the  vulgar.  It  is  thus  that  poetry  in  England  has 
echoed  back  every  rustic  note,  softened  into  perfect  melody ;  it 
is  thus  that  it  has  spread  its  charms  over  every-day  life,  dis- 
placing nothing,  taking  things  as  it  found  them,  but  tinting 
them  up  with  its  own  magical  hues,  until  every  green  hill  and 
fountain-head,  every  fresh  meadow,  nay,  every  humble  flower, 
is  full  of  song  and  story. 

I  am  dwelling  too  long,  perhaps,  upon  a  threadbare  subject; 
yet  it  brings  up  with  it  a  thousand  delicious  recollections  of 
those  happy  days  of  childhood,  when  the  imperfect  knowledge 
I  have  since  obtained  had  not  yet  dawned  upon  my  mind,  and 
when  a  fairy  tale  was  true  history  to  me.  I  have  often  been 
so  transported  by  the  pleasure  of  these  recollections,  as  almost 
to  wish  that  I  had  been  born  in  the  days  when  the  fictions  of 
poetry  were  believed.  Even  now  I  cannot  look  upon  those 
fanciful  creations  of  ignorance  and  credulity,  without  a  lurk- 
ing regret  that  they  have  all  passed  away.  The  experience  of 
my  early  days  tells  me,  that  they  were  sources  of  exquisite  de- 
light ;  and  I  sometimes  question  whether  the  naturalist  who 
can  dissect  the  flowers  of  the  field,  receives  half  the  pleasure 
from  contemplating  them,  that  he  did  who  considered  them 
the  abode  of  elves  and  fairies.  I  feel  convinced  that  the  true 
interests  and  solid  happiness  of  man  are  promoted  by  the 
advancement  of  truth ;  yet  I  cannot  but  mourn  over  the  plea- 
sant errors  which  it  has  trampled  down  in  its  progress.  The 
fauns  and  sylphs,  the  household  sprite,  the  moonlight  revel, 
Oberon,  Queen  Mab,  and  the  delicious  realms  of  fairy -land,  all 
vanish  before  the  light  of  true  philosophy ;  but  who  does  not 
sometimes  turn  with  distaste  from  the  cold  realities  of  mon> 
ing,  and  seek  to  recall  the  sweet  visions  of  the  night? 


240  BRACEBRIDQE  HALL. 


THE   CULPRIT. 

From  fire,  from  water,  and  all  things  amiss, 
Deliver  the  house  of  an  honest  justice.— The  Widow. 

THE  serenity  of  the  Hall  has  been  suddenly  interrupted  by  a 
very  important  occurrence.  In  the  course  of  this  morning  a 
posse  of  villagers  was  seen  trooping  up  the  avenue,  with  boys 
shouting  in  advance.  As  it  drew  near,  we  perceived  Ready- 
Money  Jack  Tibbets  striding  along,  wielding  his  cudgel  in  one 
hand,  and  with  the  other  grasping  the  collar  of  a  tall  fellow, 
whom,  on  still  nearer  approach,  we  recognized  for  the  redoubt- 
able gipsy  hero,  Starlight  Tom.  He  was  now,  however,  com- 
pletely cowed  and  crestfallen,  and  his  courage  seemed  to  have 
quailed  in  the  iron  gripe  of  the  lion-hearted  Jack. 

The  whole  gang  of  gipsy  women  and  children  came  dragging 
in  the  rear ;  some  in  tears,  others  making  a  violent  clamour 
about  the  ears  of  old  Ready-Money,  who,  however,  trudged  on 
in  silence  with  his  prey,  heeding  their  abuse  as  little  as  a  hawk 
that  has  pounced  upon  a  barn-door  hero  regards  the  outcries 
and  cackh'ngs  of  his  whole  feathered  seraglio. 

He  had  passed  through  the  village  on  his  way  to  the  Hall, 
and  of  course  had  made  a  great  sensation  in  that  most  excita- 
ble place,  where  every  event  is  a  matter  of  gaze  and  gossip. 
The  report  flew  like  wildfire,  that  Starlight  Tom  was  in  custody. 
The  ale-drinkers  forthwith  abandoned  the  tap-room ;  Slingsby's 
school  broke  loose,  and  master  and  boys  swelled  the  tide  that 
came  rolling  at  the  heels  of  old  Ready-Money  and  his  captive. 

The  uproar  increased,  as  they  approached  the  Hall;  it 
aroused  the  whole  gan-ison  of  dogs,  and  the  crew  of  hangers- 
on.  The  great  mastiff  barked  from  the  dog-house;  the  stag- 
hound,  and  the  grayhound,  and  the  spaniel,  issued  barking 
from  the  hall-door,  and  my  Lady  Lillycraft's  little  dogs 
ramped  and  barked  from  the  parlour  window.  I  remarked, 
however,  that  the  gipsy  dogs  made  no  reply  to  all  these 
menaces  and  insults,  but  crept  close  to  the  gang,  looking  round 
with  a  guilty,  poaching  air,  and  now  and  then  glancing  up  a 
dubious  eye  to  their  owners;  which  shows  that  the  moral 
dignity,  even  of  dogs,  may  be  ruined  by  bad  company ! 

When  the  throng  reached  the  front  of  the  house,  they  were 
brought  to  a  halt  by  a  kind  of  advanced  guard,  composed  of 
old  Christy,  the  gamekeeper,  and  two  or  three  servants  of  the 


CULPRIT.  241 

house,  who  had  been  brought  out  by  the  noise.  The  common 
herd  of  the  village  fell  back  with  respect ;  the  boys  were  driven 
back  by  Christy  and  his  compeers ;  while  Ready-Money  Jack 
maintained  his  ground  and  his  hold  of  the  prisoner,  and  was 
surrounded  by  the  tailor,  the  schoolmaster,  and  several  other 
dignitaries  of  the  village,  and  by  the  clamorous  brood  of 
gipsies,  who  were  neither  to  be  silenced  nor  intimidated. 

By  this  time  the  whole  household  were  brought  to  the  doors 
and  windows,  and  the  Squire  to  the  portal.  An  audience  was 
demanded  by  Ready-Money  Jack,  who  had  detected  the  prisoner 
in  the  very  act  of  sheep-stealing  on  his  domains,  and  had  borne 
him  off  to  be  examined  before  the  Squire,  who  is  in  the  com- 
mission of  the  peace. 

A  kind  of  tribunal  was  immediately  held  in  the  servants' 
ball,  a  large  chamber,  with  a  stone  floor,  and  a  long  table  in 
the  centre,  at  one  end  of  which,  just  under  an  enormous  clock, 
was  placed  the  Squire's  chair  of  justice,  while  Master  Simon 
took  his  place  at  the  table  as  clerk  of  the  court.  An  attempt 
had  been  made  by  old  Christy  to  keep  out  the  gipsy  gang,  but 
in  vain,  and  they,  with  the  village  worthies,  and  the  house- 
hold, half  filled  the  hall.  The  old  housekeeper  and  the  butler 
were  in  a  panic  at  this  dangerous  irruption.  They  hurried 
away  all  the  valuable  things  and  portable  articles  that  were  at 
hand,  and  even  kept  a  dragon  watch  on  the  gipsies,  lest  they 
should  carry  off  the  house  clock,  or  the  deal  table. 

Old  Christy,  and  his  faithful  coadjutor  the  gamekeeper,  acted 
as  constables  to  guard  the  prisoner,  triumphing  in  having  at 
last  got  this  terrible  offender  in  their  clutches.  Indeed,  I  am 
inclined  to  think  the  old  man  bore  some  peevish  recollection  of 
having  been  handled  rather  roughly  by  the  gipsy,  in  the  chance- 
medley  affair  of  May -day. 

Silence  was  now  commanded  by  Master  Simon;  but  it  was 
difficult  to  be  enforced,  in  such  a  motley  assemblage.  There 
was  a  continual  snarling  and  yelping  of  dogs,  and,  as  fast  as  it 
was  quelled  in  one  corner,  it  broke  out  in  another.  The  poor 
gipsy  curs,  who,  like  errant  thieves,  could  not  hold  up  their 
heads  in  an  honest  house,  were  worried  and  insulted  by  the 
gentlemen  dogs  of  the  establishment,  without  offering  to  make 
resistance ;  the  very  curs  of  my  Lady  Lillycraf t  bullied  them 
with  impunity. 

The  examination  was  conducted  with  great  mildness  and  in- 
dulgence by  the  Squire,  partly  from  the  kindness  of  his  nature, 
and  partly,  I  suspect,  because  his  heart  yearned  towards  the 


242  SnACESRTDOE  HALL 

culprit,  who  had  found  great  favour  in  his  eyes,  as  I  have 
already  observed,  from  the  skill  he  had  at  various  times  dis- 
played in  archery,  morris-dancing,  and  other  obsolete  accom- 
plishments. Proofs,  however,  were  too  strong.  Ready -Money 
Jack  told  his  story  in  a  straight-forward,  independent  way, 
nothing  daunted  by  the  presence  in  which  he  found  himself. 
He  had  suffered  from  various  depredations  on  his  sheepfold 
and  poultry-yard,  and  had  at  length  kept  watch,  and  caught 
the  delinquent  in  the  very  act  of  making  off  with  a  sheep  on 
his  shoulders. 

Tibbets  was  repeatedly  interrupted,  in  the  course  of  his  tes- 
timony, by  the  culprit's  mother,  a  furious  old  beldame,  with 
an  insufferable  tongue,  and  who,  in  fact,  was  several  times 
kept,  with  some  difficulty,  from  flying  at  him  tooth  and  nail. 
The  wife,  too,  of  the  prisoner,  whom  I  am  told  he  does  not  beat 
above  half-a-dozen  times  a  week,  completely  interested  Lady 
Lillycraft  in  her  husband's  behalf,  by  her  tears  and  supplica- 
tions ;  and  several  of  the  other  gipsy  women  were  awakening 
strong  sympathy  among  the  young  girls  and  maid-servants  in 
the  back-ground.  The  pretty,  black-eyed  gipsy  girl  whom  I 
have  mentioned  on  a  former  occasion  as  the  sibyl  that  read  the 
fortunes  of  the  general,  endeavoured  to  wheedle  that  doughty 
warrior  into  their  interests,  and  even  made  some  approaches 
to  her  old  acquaintance,  Master  Simon;  but  was  repelled  by 
the  latter  with  all  the  dignity  of  office,  having  assumed  a  look 
of  gravity  and  importance  suitable  to  the  occasion. 

I  was  a  little  surprised,  at  first,  to  find  honest  Slingsby,  the 
schoolmaster,  rather  opposed  to  his  old  crony  Tibbets,  and 
coming  forward  as  a  kind  of  advocate  for  the  accused.  It 
Beems  that  he  had  taken  compassion  on  the  forlorn  fortunes  of 
Starlight  Tom,  and  had  been  trying  his  eloquence  in  his  favour 
the  whole  way  from  the  village,  but  without  effect.  During 
the  examination  of  Ready-Money  Jack,  Slingsby  had  stood  like 
"dejected  Pity  at  his  side,"  seeking  every  now  and  then,  by  a 
soft  word,  to  soothe  any  exacerbation  of  his  ire,  or  to  qualify 
any  harsh  expression.  He  now  ventured  to  make  a  few  obser- 
vations to  the  Squire,  in  palliation  of  the  delinquent's  offence; 
but  poor  Slingsby  spoke  more  from  the  heart  than  the  head, 
and  was  evidently  actuated  merely  by  a  general  sympathy  for 
every  poor  devil  in  trouble,  and  a  liberal  toleration  for  all  kinds 
of  vagabond  existence. 

The  ladies,  too,  large  and  small,  with  the  kind-heartedness 
of  the  sex,  were  zealous  on  the  side  of  mercy,  and  interceded 


THE  CULPRIT.  243 

strenuously  with  the  Squire ;  insomuch  that  the  prisoner,  find- 
ing himself  unexpectedly  surrounded  by  active  friends,  once 
more  reared  his  crest,  and  seemed  disposed,  for  a  time,  to  put 
on  the  air  of  injured  innocence.  The  Squire,  however,  with  all 
his  benevolence  of  heart,  and  his  lurking  weakness  towards  the 
prisoner,  was  too  conscientious  to  swerve  from  the  strict  path 
of  justice.  There  was  abundant  concurring  testimony  that 
made  the  proof  of  guilt  incontrovertible,  and  Starlight  Tom's 
mittimus  was  made  out  accordingly. 

The  sympathy  of  the  ladies  was  now  greater  than  ever ;  they 
even  made  some  attempts  to  mollify  the  ire  of  Ready-Money 
Jack ;  but  that  sturdy  potentate  had  been  too  much  incensed 
by  the  repeated  incursions  that  had  been  made  into  his  terri- 
tories by  the  predatory  band  of  Starlight  Tom,  and  he  was 
resolved,  he  said,  to  drive  the  "varment  reptiles"  out  of  the 
neighbourhood.  To  avoid  all  further  importunities,  as  soon  as 
the  mittimus  was  made  out,  he  girded  up  his  loins,  and  strode 
back  to  his  seat  of  empire,  accompanied  by  his  interceding 
friend,  Slingsby,  and  followed  by  a  detachment  of  the  gipsy 
gang,  who  hung  on  his  rear,  assailing  him  with  mingled  pray- 
ers and  execrations. 

The  question  now  was,  how  to  dispose  of  the  prisoner — a 
matter  of  great  moment  in  this  peaceful  establishment,  where 
so  formidable  a  character  as  Starlight  Tom  was  like  a  hawk  en- 
trapped in  a  dove-cote.  As  the  hubbub  and  examination  had 
occupied  a  considerable  time,  it  was  too  late  in  the  day  to  send 
bim  to  the  county  prison,  and  that  of  the  village  was  sadly  out 
of  repair,  from  long  want  of  occupation.  Old  Christy,  who 
took  great  interest  in  the  affair,  proposed  that  the  culprit 
should  be  committed  for  the  night  to  an  upper  loft  of  a  kind  of 
tower  in  one  of  the  outhouses,  where  he  and  the  gamekeeper 
would  mount  guard.  After  much  deliberation,  this  measure 
was  adopted;  the  premises  in  question  were  examined  and 
made  secure,  and  Christy  and  his  trusty  ally,  the  one  armed 
with  a  fowling-piece,  the  other  with  an  ancient  blunderbuss, 
turned  out  as  sentries  to  keep  watch  over  this  donjon-keep. 

Such  is  the  momentous  affair  that  has  just  taken  place,  and 
it  is  an  event  of  too  great  moment  in  this  quiet  little  world,  not 
to  turn  it  completely  topsy-turvy.  Labour  is  at  a  stand :  the 
house  has  been  a  scene  of  confusion  the  whole  evening.  It  has 
been  beleagured  by  gipsy  women,  with  their  children  on  their 
backs,  wailing  and  lamenting ;  while  the  old  virago  of  a  mother 
has  cruised  up  and  down  the  lawn  in  front,  shaking  her  head, 


244  ERACEBRTVGK  BALL. 

and  muttering  to  herself,  or  now  and  then  breaking  into  a 
paroxysm  of  rage,  brandishing  her  fist  at  the  Hall,  and  de- 
nouncing ill-luck  upon  Ready-Money  Jack,  and  even  upon  the 
Squire  himself. 

Lady  Lillycraft  has  given  repeated  audiences  to  the  culprit's 
weeping  wife,  at  the  Hall  door;  and  the  servant  maids  have 
stolen  out,  to  confer  with  the  gipsy  women  under  the  trees. 
As  to  the.little  ladies  of  the  family,  they  are  all  outrageous  on 
Ready-Mfhiey  Jack,  whom  they  look  upon  in  the  light  of  a  ty- 
rannical giant  of  fairy  tale.  Phoebe  Wilkins,  contrary  to  her 
usual  nature,  is  the  only  one  that  is  pitiless  in  the  affair.  She 
thinks  Mr.  Tibbets  quite  in  the  right;  and  thinks  the  gipsies 
deserve  to  be  punished  severely,  for  meddling  with  the  sheep 
of  the  Tibbets's. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  females  of  the  family  evinced  all  the 
provident  kindness  of  the  sex,  ever  ready  to  soothe  and  succour 
the  distressed,  right  or  wrong.  Lady  Lillycraft  has  had  a 
mattress  taken  to  the  outhouse,  and  comforts  and  delicacies  of 
all  kinds  have  been  taken  to  the  prisoner ;  even  the  little  girls 
have  sent  their  cakes  and  sweetmeats;  so  that,  I'll  warrant, 
the  vagabond  has  never  fared  so  well  in  his  life  before.  Old 
Christy,  it  is  true,  looks  upon  every  thing  with  a  wary  eye; 
struts  about  with  his  blunderbuss  with  the  air  of  a  veteran 
campaigner,  and  will  hardly  allow  himself  to  be  spoken  to. 
The  gipsy  women  dare  not  come  within  gun-shot,  and  every 
tatterdemalion  of  a  boy  has  been  frightened  from  the  park. 
The  old  fellow  is  determined  to  lodge  Starlight  Tom  in  prison 
with  his  own  hands;  and  hopes,  he  says,  to  see  one  of  the 
poaching  crew  made  an  example  of. 

I  doubt,  after  all,  whether  the  worthy  Squire  is  not  the  great- 
est sufferer  in  the  whole  affair.  His  honourable  sense  of  duty 
obliges  him  to  be  rigid,  but  the  overflowing  kindness  of  his 
nature  makes  this  a  grievous  trial  to  him. 

He  is  not  accustomed  to  have  such  demands  upon  his  justice, 
in  his  truly  patriarchal  domain ;  and  it  wounds  his  benevolent 
spirit,  that  while  prosperity  and  happiness  are  flowing  in  thus 
bounteously  upon  him,  he  should  have  to  inflict  misery  upon  a 
fellow-being. 

He  has  been  troubled  and  cast  down  tne  whole  evening;  took 
leave  of  the  family,  on  going  to  bed,  with  a  sigh,  instead  of  his 
usual  hearty  and  affectionate  tone ;  and  will,  in  all  probability, 
have  a  far  more  sleepless  night  than  his  prisoner.  Indeed,  this 
unlucky  affair  has  cast  a  damp  upon  the  whole  household,  as 


FAMILY  MISFORTUNES.  245 

there  appears  to  be  an  universal  opinion  that  the  unlucky  cul- 
prit will  come  to  the  gallows. 

Morning. — The  clouds  of  last  evening  are  all  blown  over.  A 
load  has  been  taken  from  the  Squire's  heart,  and  every  face  is 
once  more  in  smiles.  The  gamekeeper  made  his  appearance  at 
an  early  hour,  completely  shamefaced  and  crestfallen.  Star- 
light Tom  had  made  his  escape  in  the  night ;  how  he  had  got 
out  of  the  loft,  no  one  could  tell :  the  Devil,  they  think,  must 
have  assisted  him.  Old  Christy  was  so  mortified  that  he  would 
not  show  his  face,  but  had  shut  himself  up  in  his  stronghold  at 
the  dog-kennel,  and  would  not  be  spoken  with.  What  has  par- 
ticularly relieved  the  Squire,  is,  that  there  is  very  little  likeli- 
hood of  the  culprit's  being  retaken,  having  gone  off  on  one  of 
the  old  gentleman's  best  hunters. 


FAMILY  MTSFOETUNES. 

The  night  has  been  unruly;  where  we  lay, 
The  chimneys  were  blown  down. — Macbeth. 

WE  have  for  a  day  or  two  past  had  a  flow  of  unruly  weather, 
which  has  intruded  itself  into  this  fair  and  flowery  month, 
and  for  a  time  has  quite  marred  the  beauty  of  the  landscape. 
Last  night,  the  storm  attained  its  crisis ;  the  rain  beat  hi  tor- 
rents against  the  casements,  and  the  wind  piped  and  blustered 
about  the  old  Hall  with  quite  a  wintry  vehemence.  The  morn- 
ing, however,  dawned  clear  and  serene ;  the  f ace4of  the  heavens 
seemed  as  if  newly  washed,  and  the  sun  shone  with  a  brightness 
that  was  undimmed  by  a  single  vapour.  Nothing  over-head 
gave  traces  of  the  recent  storm ;  but  on  looking  from  my  win- 
dow, I  beheld  sad  ravage  among  the  shrubs  and  flowers ;  the 
garden-walks  had  formed  the  channels  for  little  torrents ;  trees 
were  lopped  of  their  branches ;  and  a  small  silver  stream  that 
wound  through  the  park,  and  ran  at  the  bottom  of  the  lawn, 
had  swelled  into  a  turbid  yellow  sheet  of  water. 

In  an  establishment  like  this,  where  the  mansion  is  vast, 
ancient,  and  somewhat  afflicted  with  the  infirmities  of  age,  and 
where  there  are  numerous  and  extensive  dependencies,  a  storm 
is  an  event  of  a  very  grave  nature,  and  brings  in  its  train  a 
multiplicity  of  cares  and  disasters. 

While  the  Squire  was  taking  his  breakfast  in  the  great  hall. 


246  BRACEBRIDQE  HALL. 

he  was  continually  interrupted  by  some  bearer  of  ill-tidings 
from  some  part  or  other  of  his  domains ;  he  appeared  to  me  like 
the  commander  of  a  besieged  city,  after  some  grand  assault, 
receiving  at  his  headquarters  reports  of  damages  sustained  in 
the  various  quarters  of  the  place.  At  one  time  the  house- 
keeper brought  him  intelligence  of  a  chimney  blown  down,  and 
a  desperate  leak  sprung  in  the  roof  over  the  picture  gallery, 
which  threatened  to  obliterate  a  whole  generation  of  his  an- 
cestors. Then  the  steward  came  in  with  a  doleful  story  of 
the  mischief  done  in  the  woodlands ;  while  the  gamekeeper  be- 
moaned the  loss  of  one  of  his  finest  bucks,  whose  bloated  car- 
cass was  seen  floating  along  the  swoln  current  of  the  river. 

When  the  Squire  issued  forth,  he  was  accosted,  before  the 
door,  by  the  old,  paralytic  gardener,  with  a  face  full  of  trouble, 
reporting,  as  I  supposed,  the  devastation  of  his  flower-beds,  and 
the  destruction  of  his  wall-fruit.  I  remarked,  however,  that 
his  intelligence  caused  a  peculiar  expression  of  concern,  not 
only  with  the  Squire  and  Master  Simon,  but  with  the  fair  Julia 
and  Lady  Lillycraft,  who  happened  to  be  present.  From  a 
few  words  which  reached  my  ear,  I  found  there  was  some  tale 
of  domestic  calamity  in  the  case,  and  that  some  unfortunate 
family  had  been  rendered  houseless  by  the  storm.  Many  ejacu- 
lations of  pity  broke  from  the  ladies ;  I  heard  the  expressions  of 
"poor,  helpless  beings,"  and  "unfortunate  little  creatures," 
several  times  repeated ;  to  which  the  old  gardener  replied  by 
very  melancholy  shakes  of  the  head. 

I  felt  so  interested,  that  I  could  not  help  calling  to  the  gardener, 
as  he  was  retiring,  and  asking  what  unfortunate  family  it  was 
that  had  suffered  so  severely  ?  The  old  man  touched  his  hat, 
and  gazed  at  me  for  an  instant,  as  if  hardly  comprehending  my 
question.  " Family  1"  replied  he,  "there  be  no  family  in  the 
case,  your  honour;  but  here  have  been  sad  mischief  done  in 
the  rookery  I" 

I  hdd  noticed,  the  day  before,  that  the  high  and  gusty  winds 
which  prevailed  had  occasioned  great  disquiet  among  these  airy 
householders ;  then*  nests  being  all  filled  with  young,  who  were 
in  danger  of  being  tilted  out  of  their  tree-rocked  cradles.  In- 
deed, the  old  birds  themselves  seemed  to  have  hard  work  to 
maintain  a  foothold ;  some  kept  hovering  and  cawing  in  the 
air;  or,  if  they  ventured  to  alight,  they  had  to  hold  fast,  flap 
their  wings,  and  spread  their  tails,  and  thus  remain  see-saw- 
ing on  the  topmost  twigs. 

In  the  course  of  the  night,  however,  an  awful  calamity  had 


FAMILY  MISFORTUNES.  247 

taken  place  in  this  most  sage  and  politic  community.  There 
was  a  great  tree,  the  tallest  in  the  grove,  which  seemed  to  have 
been  a  kind  of  court-end  of  the  metropolis,  and  crowded  with 
the  residence  of  thosffwhom  Master  Simon  considers  the  nobility 
and  gentry.  A  decayed  limb  of  this  tree  had  given  way  with 
the  violence  of  this  storm,  and  had  come  down  with  all  its  air- 
pasties. 

One  should  be  well  aware  of  the  humours  of  the  good  Squire 
and  his  household,  to  understand  the  general  concern  expressed 
at  this  disaster.  It  was  quite  a  public  calamity  in  this  rural 
empire,  and  all  seemod  to  feel  for  the  poor  rooks  as  for  fellow- 
citizens  in  distress. 

The  ground  had  been  strewed  with  the  callow  young,  which 
were  now  cherished  hi  the  aprons  and  bosoms  of  the  maid-ser- 
vants, and  the  little  ladies  of  the  family.  I  was  pleased  with 
this  touch  of  nature ;  this  feminine  sympathy  in  the  sufferings 
of  the  offspring,  and  the  maternal  anxiety  of  the  parent  birds. 

It  was  interesting,  too,  to  witness  the  general  agitation  and 
distress  that  seemed  to  prevail  throughout  the  feathered  com- 
munity ;  the  common  cause  that  was  made  of  it ;  and  the  inces- 
sant hovering,  and  fluttering,  and  lamenting,  that  took  place 
in  the  whole  rookery.  There  is  a  cord  of  sympathy,  that  runs 
through  the  whole  feathered  race,  as  to  any  misfortunes  of  the 
young ;  and  the  cries  of  a  wounded  bird  in  the  breeding  season 
will  throw  a  whole  grove  in  a  flutter  and  an  alarm.  Indeed, 
why  should  I  confine  it  to  the  feathered  tribe?  Nature  seems 
to  me  to  have  implanted  an  exquisite  sympathy  on  this  subject, 
which  extends  through  all  her  works.  It  is  an  invariable  at- 
tribute of  the  female  heart,  to  melt  at  the  cry  of  early  helpless- 
ness, and  to  take  an  instinctive  interest  in  the  distresses  of  the 
parent  and  its  young.  On  the  present  occasion,  the  ladies  of 
the  family  were  full  of  pity  and  commiseration ;  and  I  shall 
never  forget  the  look  that  Lady  Lillycraft  gave  the  general,  on 
his  observing  that  the  young  birds  would  mak&  an  excellent 
curry,  or  an  especial  good  rook-pie. 


248  BRACEBRIDGE  HAI,L 


LOVERS'  TROUBLES. 

The  poor  soul  sat  singing  by  a  sycamore  tree, 

Sing  all  a  green  willow; 
\  Her  band  on  her  bosom,  her  head  on  her  knee 

Sing  willow,  willow,  willow; 
Sing  all  a  green  willow  must  be  my  garland.— Old  Song, 

THE  fair  Julia  having  nearly  recovered  from  the  effects  of 
her  hawking  disaster,  it  begins  to  be  thought  high  time  to 
appoint  a  day  for  the  wedding.  As  every  domestic  event  in 
a  venerable  and  aristocratic  family  connexion  like  this  is  a 
matter  of  moment,  the  fixing  upon  this  important  day  has 
of  course  given  rise  to  much  conference  and  debate. 

Some  slight  difficulties  and  demurs  have  lately  sprung  up, 
originating  in  the  peculiar  humours  that  are  prevalent  at  the 
Hall.  Thus,  I  have  overheard  a  very  solemn  consultation 
between  Lady  Lillycraft,  the  parson,  and  Master  Simon,  as  to 
whether  the  marriage  ought  not  to  be  postponed  until  the 
coming  month. 

With  all  the  charms  of  the  flowery  month  of  May,  there  is, 
I  find,  an  ancient  prejudice  against  it  as  a  marrying  month. 
An  old  proverb  says,  "To  wed  in  May  is  to  wed  poverty." 
Now,  as  Lady  Lillycraft  is  very  much  given  to  believe  in  lucky 
and  unlucky  times  and  seasons,  and  indeed  is  very  supersti- 
tious on  all  points  relating  to  the  tender  passion,  this  old  pro- 
verb seems  to  have  taken  great  hold  upon  her  mind.  She 
recollects  two  or  three  instances,  in  her  own  knowledge,  of 
matches  that  took  place  in  this  month,  and  proved  very  un- 
fortunate. Indeed,  an  own  cousin  of  hers,  who  married  on  a 
May-day,  lost  her  husband  by  a  fall  from  his  horse,  after  they 
•  had  lived  happily  together  for  twenty  years. 

The  parson  appeared  to  give  great  weight  to  her  ladyship's 
objections,  and  acknowledged  the  existence  of  a  prejudice  of 
the  kind,  not  merely  confined  to  modern  times,  but  prevalent 
likewise  among  the  ancients.  In  confirmation  of  this,  he 
quoted  a  passage  from  Ovid,  which  had  a  great  effect  on  Lady 
Lillycraft,  being  given  in  a  language  which  she  did  not  under- 
stand. Even  Master  Simon  was  staggered  by  it ;  for  he  listened 
with  a  puzzled  air;  and  then,  shaking  his  head,  sagaciously 
observed,  that  Ovid  was  certainly  a  very  wise  man. 

From  this  sage  conference  I  likewise  gathered  several  other 


LOVERS'   TROUBLES.  249 

Important  pieces  of  information,  relative  to  weddings ;  such  as 
that,  if  two  were  celebrated  in  the  same  church,  on  the  same 
day,  the  first  would  be  happy,  the  second  unfortunate.  If,  on 
going  to  church,  the  bridal  party  should  meet  the  funeral  of  a 
female,  it  was  an  omen  that  the  bride  would  die  first ;  if  of  a 
male,  the  bridegroom.  If  the  newly -married  couple  were  to 
dance  together  on  their  wedding-day,  the  wife  would  thence- 
forth rule  the  roast ;  with  many  other  curious  and  unquestion- 
able facts  of  the  same  nature,  all  which  made  me  ponder  more 
than  ever  upon  the  perils  which  surround  this  happy  state,  and 
the  thoughtless  ignorance  of  mortals  as  to  the  awful  risks  they 
run  in  venturing  upon  it.  I  abstain,  however,  from  enlarging 
upon  this  topic,  having  no  inclination  to  promote  the  increase 
of  bachelors. 

Notwithstanding  the  due  weight  which  the  Squire  gives  to 
traditional  saws  and  ancient  opinions,  yet  I  am  happy  to  find 
that  he  makes  a  firm  stand  for  the  credit  of  this  loving  month, 
and  brings  to  his  aid  a  whole  legion  of  poetical  authorities ;  all 
which,  I  presume,  have  been  conclusive  with  the  young  couple, 
as  I  understand  they  are  perfectly  willing  to  marry  in  May, 
and  abide  the  consequences.  In  a  few  days,  therefore,  the 
wedding  is  to  take  place,  and  the  Hall  is  in  a  buzz  of  anticipa- 
tion. The  housekeeper  is  bustling  about  from  morning  till 
night,  with  a  look  full  of  business  and  importance,  having  a 
thousand  arrangements  to  make,  the  Squire  intending  to  keep 
open  house  on  the  occasion;  and  as  to  the  house-maids,  you 
cannot  look  one  of  them  in  the  face,  but  the  rogue  begins  to 
colour  up  and  simper. 

While,  however,  this  leading  love  affair  is  going  on  with  a 
tranquillity  quite  inconsistent  with  the  rules  of  romance,  I  can- 
not say  that  the  under-plots  are  equally  propitious.  The 
"opening  bud  of  love"  between  the  general  and  Lady  Lolly- 
craft  seems  to  have  experienced  some  blight  in  the  course  oi 
this  genial  season.  I  do  not  think  the  general  has  ever  been 
able  to  retrieve  the  ground  he  lost,  when  he  fell  asleep  during 
the  captain's  story.  Indeed,  Master  Simon  thinks  his  case  ia 
completely  desperate,  her  ladyship  having  determined  that  he 
is  quite  destitute  of  sentiment. 

The  season  has  been  equally  unpropitious  to  the  lovelorn 
Phoebe  Wilkins.  I  fear  the  reader  will  be  impatient  at  having 
this  humble  amour  so  often  alluded  to ;  but  I  confess  I  am  apt 
to  take  a  great  interest  in  the  love  troubles  of  simple  girls  of 
this  class,  Few  people  have  an  idea  of  the  world  of  care  and 


250  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

perplexity  that  these  poor  damsels  have,  in  managing  the 
affairs  of  the  heart. 

We  talk  and  write  about  the  tender  passion ;  we  give  it  all 
the  colourings  of  sentiment  and  romance,  and  lay  the  scene  of 
its  influence  in  high  life;  but,  after  all,  I  doubt  whether  its 
sway  is  not  more  absolute  among  females  of  an  humbler  sphere. 
How  often,  could  we  but  look  into  the  heart,  should  we  find 
the  sentiment  throbbing  in  all  its  violence  in  the  bosom  of  the 
poor  lady's-maid,  rather  than  in  that  of  the  brilliant  beauty  she 
is  decking  out  for  conquest ;  whose  brain  is  probably  bewildered 
with  beaux,  ball-rooms,  and  wax-light  chandeliers. 

With  these  humble  beings,  love  is  an  honest,  engrossing  con- 
cern. They  have  no  ideas  of  settlements,  establishments,  equi- 
pages, and  pin-money.  The  heart — the  heart,  is  all-in-all  with 
them,  poor  things !  There  is  seldom  one  of  them  but  has  her 
love  cares,  and  love  secrets ;  her  doubts,  and  hopes,  and  fears, 
equal  to  those  of  any  heroine  of  romance,  and  ten  times  as 
sincere.  And  then,  too,  there  is  her  secret  hoard  of  love  docu- 
ments;—the  broken  sixpence,  the  gilded  brooch,  the  lock  of 
hair,  the  unintelligible  love  scrawl,  all  treasured  up  in  her  box 
of  Sunday  finery,  for  private  contemplation. 

How  many  crosses  and  trials  is  she  exposed  to  from  some 
lynx-eyed  dame,  or  staid  old  vestal  of  a  mistress,  who  keeps 
a  dragon  watch  over  her  virtue,  and  scouts  the  lover  from 
the  door!  But  then,  how  sweet  are  the  little  love  scenes, 
snatched  at  distant  intervals  of  holiday,  and  fondly  dwelt  on 
through  many  a  long  day  of  household  labour  and  confine- 
ment !  If  in  the  country,  it  is  the  dance  at  the  fair  or  wake, 
the  interview  in  the  church-yard  after  service,  or  the  evening 
stroll  in  the  green  lane.  If  in  town,  it  is  perhaps  merely 
a  stolen  moment  of  delicious  talk  between  the  bars  of  the 
area,  fearful  every  instant  of  being  seen;  and  then,  how 
lightly  will  the  simple  creature  carol  all  day  afterwards  at  her 
labour! 

Poor  baggage !  after  all  her  crosses  and  difficulties,  when  she 
marries,  what  is  it  but  to  exchange  a  life  of  comparative  ease 
and  comfort,  for  one  of  toil  and  uncertainty?  Perhaps,  too, 
the  lov»ir  for  whom  in  the  fondness  of  her  nature  she  has  com 
mitted  herself  to  fortune's  freaks,  turns  out  a  worthless  churl, 
the  dissolute,  hard-hearted  husband  of  low  lif e ;  who,  taking  to 
the  ale-house,  leaves  her  to  a  cheerless  home,  to  labour,  penury, 
and  child-bearing. 

When  I  see  poor  Phoebe  going  about  with  drooping  eye,  and 


LOVERS'   TROUBLES. 


251 


her  head  hanging  "all  o'  one  side,"  I  cannot  help  calling  to 
mind  the  pathetic  little  picture  drawn  by  Desdemona: — 

My  mother  had  a  maid,  called  Barbara; 
She  was  in  love ;  and  he  she  loved  proved  mad, 
And  did  forsake  her;  she  had  a  song  of  willow, 
An  old  thing  'twas;  but  it  express'd  her  fortune, 
And  she  died  singing  it. 

I  hope,  however,  that  a  better  lot  is  in  reserve  for  Phoebe 
Wilkins,  and  that  she  may  yet  "rule  the  roast,"  in  the  ancient 
empire  of  the  Tibbets !  She  is  not  fit  to  battle  with  hard  hearts 
or  hard  times.  She  was,  I  am  told,  the  pet  of  her  poor  mother, 
who  was  proud  of  the  beauty  of  her  child,  and  brought  her  up 
more  tenderly  than  a  village  girl  ought  to  be ;  and  ever  since 
she  has  been  left  an  orphan,  the  good  ladies  at  the  Hall  have 
completed  the  softening  and  spoiling  of  her. 

I  have  recently  observed  her  holding  long  conferences  in  the 
church-yard,  and  up  and  down  one  of  the  lanes  near  the  vil- 
lage, with  Slingsby,  the  schoolmaster.  I  at  first  thought  the 
pedagogue  might  be  touched  with  the  tender  malady  so  preva- 
lent in  these  parts  of  late ;  but  I  did  him  injustice.  Honest 
Slingsby,  it  seems,  was  a  friend  and  crony  of  her  late  father, 
the  parish  clerk;  and  is  on  intimate  terms  with  the  Tibbets 
family.  Prompted,  therefore,  by  his  good-will  towards  all  par- 
ties, and  secretly  instigated,  perhaps,  by  the  managing  dame 
Tibbets,  he  has  undertaken  to  talk  with  Phoebe  upon  the  sub- 
ject. He  gives  her,  however,  but  little  encouragement. 
Slingsby  has  a  formidable  opinion  of  the  aristocratical  feeling  of 
old  Ready-Money,  and  thinks,  if  Phosbe  were  even  to  make  the 
matter  up  with  the  son,  she  would  find  the  father  totally  hos- 
tile to  the  match.  The  poor  damsel,  therefore,  is  reduced 
almost  to  despair ;  and  Slingsby,  who  is  too  good-natured  not 
to  sympathize  in  her  distress,  has  advised  her  to  give  up  all 
thoughts  of  young  Jack,  and  has  proposed  as  a  substitute  his 
learned  coadjutor,  the  prodigal  son.  He  has  even,  in  the  full- 
ness of  his  heart,  offered  to  give  up  the  school-house  to  them ; 
though  it  would  leave  him  once  more  adrift  in  the  wide  world. 


262  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 


THE  HISTORIAN. 

Hermione.  Pray  you  sit  by  us, 

And  tell's  a  tale. 

Mtimiliu*.          Merry  or  sad  shall' t  be! 

Hermione.    As  merry  as  you  will. 

Mamiliu*.  A  sad  tale's  best  for  winter. 

I  have  one  of  sprites  and  goblins. 

tlerrtnone.  Let's  have  that,  air. 

— Winter's  TdU. 

As  this  is  a  story- telling  age,  I  have  been  tempted  occasion- 
ally to  give  the  reader  one  of  the  many  tales  that  are  served 
up  with  supper  at  the  Hall.  I  might,  indeed,  have  furnished  a 
series  almost  equal  in  number  to  the  Arabian  Nights ;  but  some 
were  rather  hackneyed  and  tedious ;  others  I  did  not  feel  war- 
ranted in  betraying  into  print;  and  many  more  were  of  the 
old  general's  relating,  and  turned  principally  upon  tiger-hunt- 
ing, elephant-riding,  and  Seringapatam ;  enlivened  by  the  won- 
derful deeds  of  Tippoo  Saib,  and  the  excellent  jokes  of  Major 
Pendergast. 

I  had  all  along  maintained  a  quiet  post  at  a  corner  of  the 
table,  where  I  had  been  able  to  indulge  my  humour  undis- 
turbed: listening  attentively  when  the  story  was  very  good, 
and  dozing  a  little  when  it  was  rather  dull,  which  I  consider 
the  perfection  of  auditorship. 

I  was  roused  the  other  evening  from  a  slight  trance  into 
which  I  had  fallen  during  one  of  the  general's  histories,  by  a 
sudden  call  from  the  Squire  to  furnish  some  entertainment  of 
the  kind  in  my  turn.  Having  been  so  profound  a  listener  to 
others,  I  could  not  in  conscience  refuse ;  but  neither  my  mem- 
ory nor  invention  being  ready  to  answer  so  unexpected  a 
demand,  I  begged  leave  to  read  a  manuscript  tale  from  the  pen 
of  my  fellow-countryman,  the  late  Mr.  Diedrich  Knickerbocker, 
the  historian  of  New- York.  As  this  ancient  chronicler  may 
not  be  better  known  to  my  readers  than  he  was  to  the  company 
at  the  Hall,  a  word  or  two  concerning  him  may  not  be  amiss, 
before  proceeding  to  his  manuscript. 

Diedrich  Knickerbocker  was  a  native  of  New- York,  a  descen- 
dant from  one  of  the  ancient  Dutch  families  which  originally 
settled  that  province,  and  remained  there  after  it  was  taken 
possession  of  by  the  English  in  1664.  The  descendants  of  these 
Dutch  families  still  remain  in  villages  and  neighbourhoods  in 


HISTORIAN.  253 

various  parts  of  the  country,  retaining  with  singular  obstinacy, 
the  dresses,  manners,  and  even  language  of  their  ancestors,  and 
forming  a  very  distinct  and  curious  feature  in  the  motley  pop- 
ulation of  the  State.  In  a  hamlet  whose  spire  may  be  seen  from 
New- York,  rising  from  above  the  brow  of  a  hill  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  Hudson,  many  of  the  old  folks,  even  at  the  present 
day,  speak  English  with  an  accent,  and  the  Dominie  preaches 
in  Dutch ;  and  so  completely  is  the  hereditary  love  of  quiet  and 
silence  maintained,  that  in  one  of  these  drowsy  villages,  in  the 
middle  of  a  warm  summer's  day,  the  buzzing  of  a  stout  blue> 
bottle  fly  will  resound  from  one  end  of  the  place  to  the  other. 

With  the  laudable  hereditary  feeling  thus  kept  up  among 
these  worthy  people,  did  Mr.  Knickerbocker  undertake  to 
write  a  history  of  his  native  city,  comprising  the  reign  of  ita 
three  Dutch  governors  during  the  time  that  it  was  yet  under  tha 
domination  of  the  Hogenmogens  of  Holland.  In  the  execution 
of  this  design,  the  little  Dutchman  has  displayed  great  histori- 
cal research,  and  a  wonderful  consciousness  of  the  dignity  of 
his  subject.  His  work,  however,  has  been  so  little  understood, 
as  to  be  pronounced  a  mere  work  of  humour,  satirizing  the  fol- 
lies of  the  times,  both  in  politics  and  morals,  and  giving  whim- 
sical views  of  human  nature. 

Be  this  as  it  may : — among  the  papers  left  behind  him  were 
several  tales  of  a  lighter  nature,  apparently  thrown  together 
from  materials  which  he  had  gathered  during  his  profound 
researches  for  his  history,  and  which  he  seems  to  have  cast  by 
with  neglect,  as  unworthy  of  publication.  Some  of  these  have 
fallen  into  my  hands,  by  an  accident  which  it  is  needless  at 
present  to  mention ;  and  one  of  these  very  stories,  with  its  pre- 
lude in  the  words  of  Mr.  Knickerbocker,  I  undertook  to  read, 
by  way  of  acquitting  myself  of  the  debt  which  I  owed  to  the 
other  story-tellers  at  the  Hall.  I  subjoin  it,  for  such  of  my 
readers  as  are  fond  of  stories.* 


*  I  find  that  the  tale  of  Rip  Van  Winkle,  given  in  the  Sketch-Book,  has  been  dis- 
covered by  divers  writers  in  magazines  to  have  been  founded  on  a  little  German 
tradition,  and  the  matter  has  been  revealed  to  the  world  as  if  it  were  a  foul 
instance  of  plagiarism  marvellously  brought  to  light.  In  a  note  which  follows 
that  tale,  I  had  alluded  to  the  superstition  on  which  it  was  founded,  and  I  thought 
a  mere  allusion  was  sufficient,  as  the  tradition  was  so  notorious  as  to  be  inserted 
In  almost  every  collection  of  German  legends.  I  had  seen  it  myself  in  three.  I 
could  hardly  have  hoped,  therefore,  in  the  present  age,  when  every  source  of  ghost 
and  goblin  story  is  ransacked,  that  the  origin  of  the  tale  would  escape  discovery. 
In  fact,  I  had  considered  popular  traditions  of  the  kind  as  fair  foundations  for  au- 
thors of  fiction  to  build  upon,  and  made  use  of  the  one  in  question  accordingly.  I 


254  BRACEBRIDGE  BALL. 

THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

FROM  THE  MSB.    OF  THE  LATE  DIEDRICH  KNICKERBOCKER. 

Formerly,  almost  every  place  had  a  house  of  this  kind.  If  a  house  was  seated  on 
•ome  melancholy  place,  or  built  in  some  old  romantic  manner,  or  if  any  particular 
accident  had  happened  in  it,  such  as  murder,  sudden  death,  or  the  like,  to  be 
•ure  that  house  had  a  mark  set  upon  it,  and  was  afterwards  esteemed  the  habita- 
tion of  a  ghost.— BOURNE'S  Antiquities. 

IN  the  neighbourhood  of  the  ancient  city  of  the  Manhattoes, 
there  stood,  not  very  many  years  since,  an  old  mansion, 
which,  when  I  was  a  boy,  went  by  the  name  of  the  Haunted 
House.  It  was  one  of  the  very  few  remains  of  the  architecture 
of  the  early  Dutch  settlers,  and  must  have  been  a  house  of 
some  consequence  at  the  time  when  it  was  built.  It  consisted 
of  a  centre  and  two  wings,  the  gable-ends  of  which  were  shaped 
like  stairs.  It  was  built  partly  of  wood,  and  partly  of  small 
Dutch  bricks,  such  as  the  worthy  colonists  brought  with  them 
from  Holland,  before  they  discovered  that  bricks  could  be  man- 
ufactured elsewhere.  The  house  stood  remote  from  the  road, 
in  the  centre  of  a  large  field,  with  an  avenue  of  old  locust  * 
trees  leading  up  to  it,  several  of  which  had  been  shivered  by 
lightning,  and  two  or  three  blown  down.  A  few  apple-trees 
grew  straggling  about  the  field ;  there  were  traces  also  of  what 
had  been  a  kitchen-garden ;  but  the  fences  were  broken  down, 
the  vegetables  had  disappeared,  or  had  grown  wild,  and  turned 
to  little  better  than  weeds,  with  here  and  there  a  ragged  rose- 
bush, or  a  tall  sunflower  shooting  up  from  among  brambles, 
and  hanging  its  head  sorrowfully,  as  if  contemplating  the  sur- 
rounding desolation.  Part  of  the  roof  of  the  old  house  had 
fallen  in,  the  windows  were  shattered,  the  panels  of  the  doors 
broken,  and  mended  with  rough  boards ;  and  there  were  two 
rusty  weathercocks  at  the  ends  of  the  house,  which  made  a 
great  jingling  and  whistling  as  they  whirled  about,  but  always 
pointed  wrong.  The  appearance  of  the  whole  place  was  forlorn 
and  desolate,  at  the  best  of  times ;  but,  in  unruly  weather,  the 
howling  of  the  wind  about  the  crazy  old  mansion,  the  screech- 
am  not  dtaposed  to  contest  the  matter,  however,  and  indeed  consider  myself  so  com- 
pletely overpaid  by  the  public  for  my  trivial  performances,  that  I  am  content  to 
submit  to  any  deduction,  which,  in  their  after-thoughts,  they  may  think  proper  t« 
make. 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE,  255 

ing  of  the  weathercocks,  the  slamming  and  banging  of  a  few 
loose  window-shutters,  had  altogether  so  wild  and  dreary  an 
effect,  that  the  neighbourhood  stood  perfectly  in  awe  of  the 
place,  and  pronounced  it  the  rendezvous  of  hobgoblins.  I 
recollect  the  old  building  well;  for  I  remember  how  many 
times,  when  an  idle,  unlucky  urchin,  I  have  prowled  round  its 
precincts,  with  some  of  my  graceless  companions,  on  holiday 
afternoons,  when  out  on  a  freebooting  cruise  among  the 
orchards.  There  was  a  tree  standing  near  the  house,  that  bore 
the  most  beautiful  and  tempting  fruit ;  but  then  it  was  on 
enchanted  ground,  for  the  place  was  so  charmed  by  frightful 
stories  that  we  dreaded  to  approach  it.  Sometimes  we  would 
venture  in  a  body,  and  get  near  the  Hesperian  tree,  keeping  an 
eye  upon  the  old  mansion,  and  darting  fearful  glances  into  its 
shattered  window ;  when,  just  as  we  were  about  to  seize  upon 
our  prize,  an  exclamation  from  some  one  of  the  gang,  or  an 
accidental  noise,  would  throw  us  all  into  a  panic,  and  we  would 
scamper  headlong  from  the  place,  nor  stop  until  we  had  got 
quite  into  the  road.  Then  there  were  sure  to  be  a  host  of  fear- 
ful anecdotes  told  of  strange  cries  and  groans,  or  of  some 
hideous  face  suddenly  seen  staring  out  of  one  of  the  windows. 
By  degrees  we  ceased  to  venture  into  these  lonely  grounds, 
but  would  stand  at  a  distance  and  throw  stones  at  the  build- 
ing; and  there  was  something  fearfully  pleasing  in  the  sound, 
as  they  rattled  along  the  roof,  or  sometimes  struck  some  jing- 
ling fragments  of  glass  out  of  the  windows. 

The  origin  of  this  house  was  lost  in  the  obscurity  that  covers 
the  early  period  of  the  province,  while  under  the  government  of 
their  high  mightinesses  the  states-general.  Some  reported  it  to 
have  been  a  country  residence  of  Wilhelmus  Kieft,  commonly 
called  the  Testy,  one  of  the  Dutch  governors  of  New- Amster- 
dam ;  others  said  that  it  had  been  built  by  a  naval  commander 
who  served  under  Van  Tromp,  and  who,  on  being  disappointed 
of  preferment,  retired  from  the  service  in  disgust,  became  a 
philosopher  through  sheer  spite,  and  brought  over  all  his 
wealth  to  the  province,  that  he  might  live  according  to  his 
humour,  and  despise  the  world.  The  reason  of  its  having 
fallen  to  decay,  was  likewise  a  matter  of  dispute ;  some  said 
that  it  was  in  chancery,  and  had  already  cost  more  than  its 
worth  in  legal  expenses ;  but  the  most  current,  and,  of  course, 
the  most  probable  account,  was  that  it  was  haunted,  and  that 
nobody  could  live  quietly  in  it.  There  can,  in  fact,  be  very 
little  doubt  that  this  last  was  the  case,  there  were  so  many 


BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

corroborating  stories  to  prove  it, — not  an  old  woman  in  the 
neighbourhood  but  could  furnish  at  least  a  score.  There  was  a 
gray-headed  curmudgeon  of  a  negro  that  lived  hard  by,  who 
had  a  whole  budget  of  them  to  tell,  many  of  which  had  happened 
to  himself.  I  recollect  many  a  tune  stopping  with  my  school- 
mates, and  getting  him  to  relate  some.  The  old  crone  lived  in 
a  (hovel,  in  the  midst  of  a  small  patch  of  potatoes  and  Indian 
corn,  which  his  master  had  given  him  on  setting  him  free. 
He  would  come  to  us,  with  his  hoe  in  his  hand,  and  as  we  sat 
perched,  like  a  row  of  swallows,  on  the  rail  of  the  fence,  in  the 
mellow  twilight  of  a  summer  evening,  he  would  tell  us  such 
fearful  stories,  accompanied  by  such  awful  rollings  of  his 
white  eyes,  that  we  were  almost  afraid  of  our  own  footsteps  as 
we  returned  home  afterwards  in  the  dark. 

Poor  old  Pompey !  many  years  are  past  since  he  died,  and 
went  to  keep  company  with  the  ghosts  he  was  so  fond  of  talk- 
ing about.  He  was  buried  in  a  corner  of  his  own  little  potato- 
patch  ;  the  plough  soon  passed  over  his  grave,  and  levelled  it 
with  the  rest  of  the  field,  and  nobody  thought  any  more  of  the 
gray -headed  negro.  By  a  singular  chance,  I  was  strolling  in  that 
neighbourhood  several  years  afterwards,  when  I  had  grown 
up  to  be  a  young  man,  and  I  found  a  knot  of  gossips  speculating 
on  a  skull  which  had  just  been  turned  up  by  a  ploughshare. 
They  of  course  determined  it  to  be  the  remains  of  some  one  that 
had  been  murdered,  and  they  had  raked  up  with  it  some  of 
the  traditionary  tales  of  the  haunted  house.  I  knew  it  at  once 
to  be  the  relic  of  poor  Pompey,  but  I  held  my  tongue ;  for  I 
am  too  considerate  of  other  people's  enjoyment,  ever  to  mar  a 
story  of  a  ghost  or  a  murder.  I  took  care,  however,  to  see  the 
bones  of  my  old  friend  once  more  buried  in  a  place  where  they 
were  not  likely  to  be  disturbed.  As  I  sat  on  the  turf  and 
watched  the  interment,  I  fell  into  a  long  conversation  with  an 
old  gentleman  of  the  neighbourhood,  John  Josse  Vandermoere, 
a  pleasant  gossiping  man,  whose  whole  life  was  spent  in  hear- 
ing and  telling  the  news  of  the  province.  He  recollected  old 
Pompey,  and  his  stories  about  the  Haunted  House ;  but  he  as- 
sured me  he  could  give  me  one  still  more  strange  than  any  that 
Pompey  had  related :  and  on  my  expressing  a  great  curiosity 
to  hear  it,  he  sat  down  beside  me  on  the  turf,  and  told  the 
following  tale.  I  have  endeavoured  to  give  it  as  nearly  as 
possible  in  his  words ;  but  it  is  now  many  years  since,  and  I 
am  grown  old,  and  my  memory  is  not  over-good.  I  cannot 
therefore  vouch  for  the  language,  but  I  am  always  scrupulous 
as  to  facts.  D.  K. 


DOLPH  HEYLIGm.  257 


DOLPH  HEYLIGER 

"  I  take  the  town  of  Concord,  where  I  dwell, 
All  Kilborn  be  my  witness,  if  I  were  not 
Begot  in  bashfulness,  brought  up  in  shamefacedness. 
Let  'un  bring  a  dog  but  to  my  vace  that  can 
Zay  I  have  beat  'un,  and  without  a  vault; 
Or  but  a  cat  will  swear  upon  a  book, 
I  have  as  much  as  zet  a  vire  her  tail, 
And  I'll  give  him  or  her  a  crown  for  'mends." — Tale  of  a  Tub. 

IN  the  early  time  of  the  province  of  New-York,  while  it 
groaned  under  the  tyranny  of  the  English  governor,  Lord 
Cornbury,  who  carried  his  cruelties  towards  the  Dutch  inhabi- 
tants so  far  as  to  allow  no  Dominie,  or  schoolmaster,  to  officiate 
in  their  language,  without  his  special  license ;  about  this  time, 
there  lived  in  the  jolly  little  old  city  of  the  Manhattoes,  a  kind 
motherly  dame,  known  by  the  name  of  Dame  Heyliger.  She 
was  the  widow  of  a  Dutch  sea-captain,  who  died  suddenly  of  a 
fever,  in  consequence  of  working  too  hard,  and  eating  too 
heartily,  at  the  time  when  all  the  inhabitants  turned  out  in  a 
panic,  to  fortify  the  place  against  the  invasion  of  a  small 
French  privateer.*  He  left  her  with  very  little  money,  and  one 
infant  son,  the  only  survivor  of  several  children.  The  good 
woman  had  need  of  much  management,  to  make  both  ends 
meet,  and  keep  up  a  decent  appearance.  However,  as  her  hus- 
band had  fallen  a  victim  to  his  zeal  for  the  public  safety,  it 
was  universally  agreed  that  "  something  ought  to  be  done  for 
the  widow;"  and  on  the  hopes  of  this  "something"  she  lived 
tolerably  for  some  years ;  in  the  meantime,  every  body  pitied 
and  spoke  well  of  her;  and  that  helped  along. 

She  lived  in  a  small  house,  in  a  small  street,  called  Garden- 
street,  very  probably  from  a  garden  which  may  have  nourished 
there  some  time  or  other.  As  her  necessities  every  year  grew 
greater,  and  the  talk  of  the  public  about  doing  ' '  something  for 
her"  grew  less,  she  had  to  cast  about  for  some  mode  of  doing 
something  for  herself,  by  way  of  helping  out  her  slender  means, 
and  maintaining  her  independence,  of  which  she  was  somewhat 
tenacious. 

Living  in  a  mercantile  town,  she  had  caught  something  of 
the  spirit,  and  determined  to  venture  a  little  in  the  great  lot- 


258  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

tery  of  commerce.  On  a  sudden,  therefore,  to  the  great  sur- 
prise of  the  street,  there  appeared  at  her  window  a  grand  array 
of  gingerbread  kings  and  queens,  with  their  arms  stuck 
a-kimbo,  after  the  invariable  royal  manner.  There  were  also 
several  broken  tumblers,  some  filled  with  sugar-plums,  some 
with  marbles;  there  were,  moreover,  cakes  of  various  kinds, 
and  barley  sugar,  and  Holland  dolls,  and  wooden  horses,  with 
here  and  there  gilt-covered  picture-books,  and  now  and  then  a 
skein  of  thread,  or  a  dangling  pound  of  candles.  At  the  door 
of  the  house  sat  the  good  old  dame's  cat,  a  decent  demure-look- 
ing personage,  that  seemed  to  scan  every  body  that  passed,  to 
criticise  their  dress,  and  now  and  then  to  stretch  her  neck, 
and  look  out  with  sudden  curiosity,  to  see  what  was  going  on 
at  the  other  end  of  the  street ;  but  if  by  chance  any  idle  vaga- 
bond dog  came  by,  and  offered  to  be  uncivil — hoity-toity !— how 
she  would  bristle  up,  and  growl,  and  spit,  and  strike  out  her 
paws !  she  was  as  indignant  as  ever  was  an  ancient  and  ugly 
spinster,  on  the  approach  of  some  graceless  profligate. 

But  though  the  good  woman  had  to  come  down  to  these 
humble  means  of  subsistence,  yet  she  still  kept  up  a  feeling  of 
family  pride,  having  descended  from  the  Vanderspiegels,  of 
Amsterdam ;  and  she  had  the  family  arms  painted  and  framed, 
and  hung  over  her  mantel-piece.  She  was,  in  truth,  much  re- 
spected by  all  the  poorer  people  of  the  place ;  her  house  was 
quite  a  resort  of  the  old  wives  of  the  neighbourhood ;  they  would 
drop  in  there  of  a  winter's  afternoon,  as  she  sat  knitting  on 
one  side  of  her  fire-place,  her  cat  purring  on  the  other,  and  the 
tea-kettle  singing  before  it ;  and  they  would  gossip  with  her 
until  late  in  the  evening.  There  was  always  an  arm-chair  for 
Peter  de  Groodt,  sometimes  called  Long  Peter,  and  sometimes 
Peter  Longlegs,  the  clerk  and  sexton  of  the  little  Lutheran 
Jchurch,  who  was  her  great  crony,  and  indeed  the  oracle  of  her 
(fire-side.  Nay,  the  Dominie  himself  did  not  disdain,  now  and 
then,  to  step  in,  converse  about  the  state  of  her  mind,  and  take 
a  glass  of  her  special  good  cherry-brandy.  Indeed,  he  never 
failed  to  call  on  new-year's  day,  and  wish  her  a  happy  new 
year ;  and  the  good  dame,  who  was  a  little  vain  on  some  points, 
always  piqued  herself  on  giving  him  as  large  a  cake  as  any  one 
in  town. 

I  have  said  that  she  had  one  son.  He  was  the  child  of  her 
old  age ;  but  could  hardly  be  called  the  comfort — for,  of  all  un- 
lucky urchins,  Dolph  Heyliger  was  the  most  mischievous. 
Not  that  the  whipster  was  really  vicious ;  he  was  only  full  of 


DOLPR  RETLTOER. 

fun  and  frolic,  and  had  that  daring,  gamesome  spirit,  which  is 
extolled  in  a  rich  man's  child,  but  execrated  in  a  poor  man's. 
He  was  continually  getting  into  scrapes :  his  mother  was  in- 
cessantly harassed  with  complaints  of  some  waggish  pranks 
which  he  had  played  off ;  bills  were  sent  in  for  windows  that  he 
had  broken ;  in  a  word,  he  had  not  reached  his  fourteenth  year 
before  he  was  pronounced,  by  all  the  neighbourhood,  to  be  a 
"wicked  dog,  the  wickedest  dog  in  the  street!"  Nay,  one  old 
gentleman,  in  a  claret-coloured  coat,  with  a  thin  red  face,  and 
ferret  eyes,  went  so  far  as  to  assure  Dame  Heyliger,  that  her 
son  would,  one  day  or  other,  come  to  the  gallows ! 

Yet,  notwithstanding  all  this,  the  poor  old  soul  loved  her 
boy.  It  seemed  as  though  she  loved  him  the  better,  the  worse 
he  behaved ;  and  that  he  grew  more  in  her  favour,  the  more  he 
grew  out  of  favour  with  the  world.  Mothers  are  foolish,  fond- 
hearted  beings ;  there's  no  reasoning  them  out  of  their  dotage ; 
and,  indeed,  this  poor  woman's  child  was  all  that  was  left  to 
love  her  in  this  world ; — so  we  must  not  think  it  hard  that  she 
turned  a  deaf  ear  to  her  good  friends,  who  sought  to  prove  to 
her  that  Dolph  would  come  to  a  halter. 

To  do  the  varlet  justice,  too,  he  was  strongly  attached  to  his 
parent.  He  would  not  willingly  have  given  her  pain  on  any 
account ;  and  when  he  had  been  doing  wrong,  it  was  but  for 
him  to  catch  his  poor  mother's  eye  fixed  wistfully  and  sorrow- 
fully upon  him,  to  fill  his  heart  with  bitterness  and  contrition. 
But  he  was  a  heedless  youngster,  and  could  not,  for  the  life  of 
him,  resist  any  new  temptation  to  fun  and  mischief.  Though 
quick  at  his  learning,  whenever  he  could  be  brought  to  apply 
himself,  yet  he  was  always  prone  to  be  led  away  by  idle  com- 
pany, and  would  play  truant  to  hunt  after  birds'-nests,  to  rob 
orchards,  or  to  swim  in  the  Hudson. 

In  this  way  he  grew  up,  a  tall,  lubberly  boy ;  and  his  mother 
began  to  be  greatly  perplexed  what  to  do  with  him,  or  how  to 
put  him  in  a  way  to  do  for  himself ;  for  he  had  acquired  such 
an  unlucky  reputation,  that  no  one  seemed  willing  to  employ 
him. 

Many  were  the  consultations  that  she  held  with  Peter  de 
Groodt,  the  clerk  and  sexton,  who  was  her  prime  counsellor. 
Peter  was  as  much  perplexed  as  herself,  for  he  had  no  great 
opinion  of  the  boy,  and  thought  he  would  never  come  to  good. 
He  at  one  time  advised  her  to  send  him  to  sea — a  piece  of  advice 
only  given  in  the  most  desperate  cases;  but  Dame  Heyliger 
would  not  listen  to  such  an  idea ;  she  could  not  think  of  letting 


260  BRACEBRIDQE  HALL. 

Dolph  go  out  of  her  sight.  She  was  sitting  one  day  knitting 
by  her  fireside,  in  great  perplexity,  -when  the  sexton  entered 
with  an  air  of  unusual  vivacity  and  briskness.  He  had  just 
come  from  a  funeral.  It  had  been  that  of  a  boy  of  Dolph's 
years,  who  had  been  apprentice  to  a  famous  German  doctor, 
and  had  died  of  a  consumption.  It  is  true,  there  had  bivn  a 
whisper  that  the  deceased  had  been  brought  to  his  end  by  b«  ii  - 
made  the  subject  of  the  doctor's  experiments,  on  which  he  w;r< 
apt  to  try  the  effects  of  a  new  compound,  or  a  quieting  draught. 
This,  however,  it  is  likely,  was  a  mere  scandal;  at  any  rate, 
Peter  de  Groodt  did  not  think  it  worth  mentioning;  though, 
had  we  time  to  philosophize,  it  would  be  a  curious  matter  for 
speculation,  why  a  doctor's  family  is  apt  to  be  so  lean  and 
cadaverous,  and  a  butcher's  so  jolly  and  rubicund. 

Peter  de  Groodt,  as  I  said  before,  entered  the  house  of  Dame 
Heyliger,  with  unusual  alacrity.  He  was  full  of  a  bright  idea 
that  had  popped  into  his  head  at  the  funeral,  and  over  which 
he  had  chuckled  as  he  shovelled  the  earth  into  the  grave  of  the 
doctor's  disciple.  It  had  occurred  to  him,  that,  as  the  situation 
of  the  deceased  was  vacant  at  the  doctor's,  it  would  be  the  very 
place  for  Dolph.  The  boy  had  parts,  and  could  pound  a  pestle 
and  run  an  errand  with  any  boy  in  the  town— and  what  more 
was  wanted  in  a  student? 

The  suggestion  of  the  sage  Peter  was  a  vision  of  glory  to  the 
mother.  She  already  saw  Dolph,  in  her  mind's  eye,  with  a 
cane  at  his  nose,  a  knocker  at  his  door,  and  an  M.  D.  at  the  end 
of  his  name — one  of  the  established  dignitaries  of  the  town. 

The  matter,  once  undertaken,  was  soon  effected ;  the  sexton 
had  some  influence  with  the  doctor,  they  having  had  much 
dealing  together  in  the  way  of  their  separate  professions ;  and 
the  very  next  morning  he  called  and  conducted  the  urchin, 
jclad  in  his  Sunday  clothes,  to  undergo  the  inspection  of  Dr. 
[Karl  Lodovick  Knipperhausen. 

I  They  found  the  doctor  seated  in  an  elbow-chair,  in  one  corner 
of  his  study,  or  laboratory,  with  a  large  volume,  in  German 
print,  before  him.  He  was  a  short,  fat  man,  with  a  dark, 
square  face,  rendered  more  dark  by  a  black  velvet  cap.  He 
had  a  little,  knobbed  nose,  not  unlike  the  ace  of  spades,  with  a 
pair  of  spectacles  gleaming  on  each  side  of  his  dusky  counte- 
nance, like  a  couple  of  bow-windows. 

Dolph  felt  struck  with  awe,  on  entering  into  the  presence  of 
this  learned  man ;  and  gazed  about  him  with  boyish  wonder  at 
the  furniture  of  this  chamber  of  knowledge,  which  appeared 


DOLPH  HE7LIGER.  261 

to  him  almost  as  the  den  of  a  magician.  In  the  centre  stood  a 
claw-footed  table,  with  pestle  and  mortar,  phials  and  gallipots, 
and  a  pair  of  small,  burnished  scales.  At  one  end  was  a  heavy 
clothes-press,  turned  into  a  receptacle  for  drugs  and  compounds ; 
against  which  hung  the  doctor's  hat  and  cloak,  and  gold-headed 
cane,  and  on  the  top  grinned  a  human  skull.  Along  the  mantel- 
piece were  glass  vessels,  in  which  were  snakes  and  lizards,  and 
a  human  foetus  preserved  in  spirits.  A  closet,  the  doors  of 
which  were  taken  off,  contained  three  whole  shelves  of  books, 
and  some,  too,  of  mighty  folio  dimensions — a  collection,  the 
like  of  which  Dolph  had  never  before  beheld.  As,  however, 
the  library  did  not  take  up  the  whole  of  the  closet,  the  doctor's 
thrifty  housekeeper  had  occupied  the  rest  with  pots  of  pickles 
and  preserves;  and  had  hung  about  the  room,  among  awful 
implements  of  the  healing  art,  strings  of  red  pepper  and  cor- 
pulent cucumbers,  carefully  preserved  for  seed. 

Peter  de  Groodt,  and  his  protege,  were  received  with  great 
gravity  and  stateliness  by  the  doctor,  who  was  a  very  wise, 
dignified  little  man,  and  never  smiled.  He  surveyed  Dolph 
from  head  to  foot,  above,  and  under,  and  through  his  spectacles ; 
and  the  poor  lad's  heart  quailed  as  these  great  glasses  glared  on 
him  like  two  full  moons.  The  doctor  heard  all  that  Peter  de 
Groodt  had  to  say  in  favour  of  the  youthful  candidate ;  and 
then,  wetting  his  thumb  with  the  end  of  his  tongue,  he  began 
deliberately  to  turn  over  page  after  page  of  the  great  black 
volume  before  him.  At  length,  after  many  hums  and  haws, 
and  strokings  of  the  chin,  and  all  that  hesitation  and  delibera- 
tion with  which  a  wise  man  proceeds  to  do  what  he  intended  to 
do  from  the  very  first,  the  doctor  agreed  to  take  the  lad  as  a 
disciple ;  to  give  him  bed,  board,  and  clothing,  and  to  instruct 
him  in  the  healing  art ;  in  return  for  which,  he  was  to  have  his 
services  until  his  twenty-first  year. 

Behold,  then,  our  hero,  all  at  once  transformed  from  an 
unlucky  urchin,  running  wild  about  the  streets,  to  a  student 
of  medicine,  diligently  pounding  a  pestle,  under  the  auspices  of 
the  learned  Doctor  Karl  Lodovick  Knipperhausen.  It  was  a 
happy  transition  for  his  fond  old  mother.  She  was  delighted 
with  the  idea  of  her  boy's  being  brought  up  worthy  of  his 
ancestors ;  and  anticipated  the  day  when  he  would  be  able  to 
hold  up  his  head  with  the  lawyer,  that  lived  in  the  large  house 
opposite ;  or,  perad venture,  with  the  Dominie  himself. 

Doctor  Knipperhausen  was  a  native  of  the  Palatinate  of  Ger- 
many ;  from  whence,  in  company  with  many  of  his  countrymen, 


262  BRACEBRLDGE  HALL. 

he  had  taken  refuge  in  England,  on  account  of  religious  perse- 
cution. He  was  one  of  nearly  three  thousand  Palatines^  who 
came  over  from  England  in  1710,  under  the  protection  of 
Governor  Hunter.  Where  the  doctor  had  studied,  how  he  had 
acquired  his  medical  knowledge,  and  where  he  had  received 
his  diploma,  it  is  hard  at  present  to  say,  for  nobody  knew  at 
the  time;  yet  it  is  certain  that  his  profound  skill  and  abstruse 
knowledge  were  the  talk  and  wonder  of  the  common  people, 
far  and  near. 

TTJH  practice  was  totally  different  from  that  of  any  other 
physician ;  consisting  in  mysterious  compounds,  known  only  to 
himself,  in  the  preparing  and  administering  of  which,  it  was 
said,  he  always  consulted  the  stars.  80  high  an  opinion  was 
entertained  of  his  skill,  particularly  by  the  German  and  Dutch 
inhabitants,  that  they  always  resorted  to  him  in  desperate 
cases.  He  was  one  of  those  infallible  doctors,  that  are  always 
effecting  sudden  and  surprising  cures,  when  the  patient  has 
been  given  up  by  all  the  regular  physicians;  unless,  as  is 
shrewdly  observed,  the  case  has  been  left  too  long  before  it 
was  put  into  their  hands.  The  doctor's  library  was  the  talk 
and  marvel  of  the  neighbourhood,  I  might  almost  say  of  the 
entire  burgh.  The  good  people  looked  with  reverence  at  a  man 
that  had  read  three  whole  shelves  full  of  books,  and  some  of 
them,  too,  as  large  as  a  family  Bible.  There  were  many  dis- 
putes among  the  members  of  the  little  Lutheran  church,  as  to 
which  was  the  wiser  man,  the  doctor  or  the  Dominie.  Some 
of  his  admirers  even  went  so  far  as  to  say,  that  he  knew  more 
than  the  governor  himself — in  a  word,  it  was  thought  that 
there  was  no  end  to  his  knowledge ! 

No  sooner  was  Dolph  received  into  the  doctor's  family,  than 
he  was  put  in  possession  of  the  lodging  of  his  predecessor.  It 
was  a  garret-room  of  a  steep-roofed  Dutch  house,  where  the 
rain  patted  on  the  shingles,  and  the  lightning  gleamed,  and  the 
wind  piped  through  the  crannies  in  stormy  weather;  and 
where  whole  troops  of  hungry  rats,  like  Don  Cossacks,  galloped 
about  in  defiance  of  traps  and  ratsbane. 

He  was  soon  up  to  his  ears  in  medical  studies,  being  employed, 
morning,  noon,  and  night,  in  rolling  pills,  filtering  tinctures, 
or  pounding  the  pestle  and  mortar,  in  one  corner  of  the  labora- 
tory ;  while  the  doctor  would  take  his  seat  in  another  corner, 
when  he  had  nothing  else  to  do,  or  expected  visitors,  and, 
arrayed  in  his  morning-gown  and  velvet  cap,  would  pore  over 
the  contents  of  some  folio  volume.  It  ig  true,  that  the  regular 


DOLPH  SEYLIQER  263 

thumping  of  Dolph's  pestle,  or,  perhaps,  the  drowsy  buzzing  of 
the  summer  flies,  would  now  and  then  lull  the  little  man  into  a 
slumber ;  but  then  his  spectacles  were  always  wide  awake,  and 
studiously  regarding  the  book. 

There  was  another  personage  in  the  house,  however,  to  whom 
Dolph  was  obliged  to  pay  allegiance.  Though  a  bachelor,  and 
a  man  of  such  great  dignity  and  importance,  yet  the  doctor 
was,  like  many  other  wise  men,  subject  to  petticoat  govern- 
ment. He  was  completely  under  the  sway  of  his  housekeeper; 
a  spare,  busy,  fretting  housewife,  in  a  little,  round,  quilted, 
German  cap,  with  a  huge  bunch  of  keys  jingling  at  the  girdle 
of  an  exceedingly  long  waist.  Frau  Ilse  (or  Frow  Hsy,  as  it 
was  pronounced)  had  accompanied  him  in  his  various  migra- 
tions from  Germany  to  England,  and  from  England  to  the 
province ;  managing  his  establishment  and  himself  too :  ruling 
him,  it  is  true,  with  a  gentle  hand,  but  carrying  a  high  hand 
with  all  the  world  beside.  How  she  had  acquired  such  ascen- 
dency, I  do  not  pretend  to  say.  People,  it  is  true,  did  talk- 
but  have  not  people  been  prone  to  talk  ever  since  the  world 
began?  Who  can  tell  how  women  generally  contrive  to  get  thfc 
upper  hand?  A  husband,  it  is  true,  may  now  and  then  be 
master  in  his  own  house ;  but  who  ever  knew  a  bachelor  that 
was  not  managed  by  his  housekeeper? 

Indeed,  Frau  Ilsy's  power  was  not  confined  to  the  doctor's 
household.  She  was  one  of  those  prying  gossips  that  know 
every  one's  business  better  than  they  do  themselves ;  and  whose 
all-seeing  eyes,  and  all-telling  tongues,  are  terrors  throughout 
a  neighbourhood. 

Nothing  of  any  moment  transpired  in  the  world  of  scandal  of 
this  little  burgh,  but  it  was  known  to  Frau  Hsy.  She  had  her 
crew  of  cronies,  that  were  perpetually  hurrying  to  her  little 
parlour,  with  some  precious  bit  of  news ;  nay,  she  would  some- 
times discuss  a  whole  volume  of  secret  history,  as  she  held  the 
street-door  ajar,  and  gossiped  with  one  of  these  garrulous 
cronies  in  the  very  teeth  of  a  December  blast. 

Between  the  doctor  and  the  housekeeper,  it  may  easily  be 
supposed  that  Dolph  had  a  busy  life  of  it.  As  Frau  Dsy  kept 
the  keys,  and  literally  ruled  the  roast,  it  was  starvation  to 
offend  her,  though  he  found  the  study  of  her  temper  more  per- 
plexing even  than  that  of  medicine.  When  not  busy  in  the 
laboratory,  she  kept  him  running  hither  and  thither  on  her 
errands ;  and  on  Sundays  he  was  obliged  to  accompany  her  to 
and  from  church,  and  carry  her  Bible.  Many  a  time  has  the 


264  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

poor  varlet  stood  shivering  and  blowing  his  fingers,  or  holding 
his  frost-bitten  nose,  in  the  church-yard,  while  Ilsy  and  her 
cronies  were  huddled  together,  wagging  their  heads,  and  tear- 
big  some  unlucky  character  to  pieces. 

With  all  his  advantages,  however,  Dolph  made  very  slow 
progress  in  his  art.  This  was  no  fault  of  the  doctor's,  certainly, 
for  he  took  unwearied  pains  with  the  lad,  keeping  him  close  to 
the  pestle  and  mortar,  or  on  the  trot  about  town  with  phials 
and  pill-boxes ;  and  if  he  ever  flagged  in  his  industry,  which  he 
was  rather  apt  to  do,  the  doctor  would  fly  into  a  passion,  and 
ask  him  if  he  ever  expected  to  learn  his  profession,  unless  he 
applied  himself  closer  to  the  study.  The  fact  is,  he  still  retained 
the  fondness  for  sport  and  mischief  that  had  marked  his  child- 
hood ;  the  habit,  indeed,  had  strengthened  with  his  years,  and 
gained  force  from  being  thwarted  and  constrained.  He  daily 
grew  more  and  more  untractable,  and  lost  favour  in  the  eyes 
both  of  the  doctor  and  the  housekeeper. 

In  the  meantime  the  doctor  went  on,  waxing  wealthy  and 
renowned.  He  was  famous  for  his  skill  in  managing  cases  not 
laid  down  in  the  books.  He  had  cured  several  old  women  and 
young  girls  of  witchcraft;  a  terrible  complaint,  nearly  as 
prevalent  in  the  province  in  those  days  as  hydrophobia  is  at 
present.  He  had  even  restored  one  strapping  country  girl  to 
perfect  health,  who  had  gone  so  far  as  to  vomit  crooked  pins 
and  needles;  which  is  considered  a  desperate  stage  of  the 
malady.  It  was  whispered,  also,  that  he  was  possessed  of  the 
art  of  preparing  love-powders ;  and  many  applications  had  he 
in  consequence  from  love-sick  patients  of  both  sexes.  But  all 
these  cases  formed  the  mysterious  part  of  his  practice,  in  which, 
according  to  the  cant  phrase,  "  secrecy  and  honour  might  be 
depended  on."  Dolph,  therefore,  was  obliged  to  turn  out  of 
the  study  whenever  such  consultations  occurred,  though  it  is 
said  he  learnt  more  of  the  secrets  of  the  art  at  the  key-hole, 
than  by  all  the  rest  of  his  studies  put  together. 

As  the  doctor  increased  in  wealth,  he  began  to  extend  his 
possessions,  and  to  look  forward,  like  other  great  men,  to  the 
time  when  he  should  retire  to  the  repose  of  a  country-seat.  For 
this  purpose  he  had  purchased  a  farm,  or,  as  the  Dutch  settlers 
called  it,  a  boiverie,  a  few  miles  from  town.  It  had  been  the 
residence  of  a  wealthy  family,  that  had  returned  some  time 
since  to  Holland.  A  large  mansion-house  stood  in  the  centre  of 
it,  very  much  out  of  repair,  and  wliich,  in  consequence  of  cer- 
tain reports,  had  received  the  appellation  of  the  Haunted 


DOLPH  HETLIOER.  265 

House.  Either  from  these  reports,  or  from  its  actual  dreariness, 
the  doctor  had  found  it  impossible  to  get  a  tenant ;  and,  that 
the  place  might  not  fall  to  ruin  before  he  could  reside  in  it  him 
self,  he  had  placed  a  country  boor,  with  his  family,  in  one  wing, 
with  the  privilege  of  cultivating  the  farm  on  shares. 

The  doctor  now  felt  all  the  dignity  of  a  landholder  rising 
within  him.  He  had  a  little  of  the  German  pride  of  territory 
in  his  composition,  and  almost  looked  upon  himself  as  owner 
of  a  principality.  He  began  to  complain  of  the  fatigue  of  busi- 
ness; and  was  fond  of  riding  out  "to  look  at  his  estate."  His 
little  expeditions  to  his  lands  were  attended  with  a  bustle  and 
parade  that  created  a  sensation  throughout  the  neighbourhood. 
His  wall-eyed  horse  stood,  stamping  and  whisking  off  the  flies, 
for  a  full  hour  before  the  house.  Then  the  doctor's  saddle-bags 
would  be  brought  out  and  adjusted ;  then,  after  a  little  while, 
his  cloak  would  be  rolled  up  and  strapped  to  the  saddle ;  then 
his  umbrella  would  be  buckled  to  the  cloak;  while,  in  the 
meantime,  a  group  of  ragged  boys,  that  observant  class  of 
beings,  would  gather  before  the  door.  At  length,  the  doctor 
would  issue  forth,  in  a  pair  of  jack-boots  that  reached  above 
his  knees,  and  a  cocked  hat  flapped  down  hi  front.  As  he  was  a 
short,  fat  man,  he  took  some  time  to  mount  into  the  saddle ; 
and  when  there,  he  took  some  tune  to  have  the  saddle  and 
stirrups  properly  adjusted,  enjoying  the  wonder  and  admira- 
tion of  the  urchin  crowd.  Even  after  he  had  set  off,  he  would 
pause  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  or  trot  back  two  or  three 
times  to  give  some  parting  orders ;  which  were  answered  by 
the  housekeeper  from  the  door,  or  Dolph  from  the  study,  or 
the  black  cook  from  the  cellar,  or  the  chambermaid  from  the 
garret- window ;  and  there  were  generally  some  last  words 
bawled  after  him,  just  as  he  was  turning  the  corner. 

The  whole  neighbourhood  would  be  aroused  by  this  pomp  and 
circumstance.  The  cobbler  would  leave  his  last;  the  barber 
would  thrust  out  his  frizzed  head,  with  a  comb  sticking  in  it; 
a  knot  would  collect  at  the  grocer's  door ;  and  the  word  would 
be  buzzed  from  one  end  of  the  street  to  the  other,  "  The  doctor's 
riding  out  to  his  country-seat !" 

These  were  golden  moments  for  Dolph.  No  sooner  was  the 
doctor  out  of  sight,  than  pestle  and  mortar  were  abandoned ; 
the  laboratory  was  left  to  take  care  of  itself,  and  the  student 
was  off  on  some  madcap  frolic. 

Indeed,  it  must  be  confessed,  the  youngster,  as  he  grew  up, 
seemed  in  a  fair  way  to  fulfil  the  prediction  of  the  old  claret- 


266  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

coloured  gentleman.  He  was  the  ringleader  of  all  holiday 
sports,  and  midnight  gambols ;  ready  for  all  kinds  of  mischiev- 
ous pranks,  and  harebrained  adventures. 

There  is  nothing  so  troublesome  as  a  hero  on  a  small  scale, 
or,  rather,  a  hero  in  a  small  town.  Dolph  soon  became  the  ab- 
horrence of  all  drowsy,  housekeeping  old  citizens,  who  hated 
noise,  and  had  no  relish  for  waggery.  The  good  dames,  too, 
considered  him  as  little  better  than  a  reprobate,  gathered  their 
daughters  under  their  wings  whenever  he  approached,  and 
pointed  him  out  as  a  warning  to  their  sons.  No  one  seemed  to 
hold  him  in  much  regard,  excepting  the  wild  striplings  of  the 
place,  who  were  captivated  by  his  open-hearted,  daring  man- 
ners, and  the  negroes,  who  always  look  upon  every  idle,  do- 
nothing  youngster  as  a  kind  of  gentleman.  Even  the  good 
Peter  de  Groodt,  who  had  considered  himself  a  kind  of  patron 
of  the  lad,  began  to  despair  of  him ;  and  would  shake  his  head 
dubiously,  as  he  listened  to  a  long  complaint  from  the  house- 
keeper, and  sipped  a  glass  of  her  raspberry  brandy. 

Still  his  mother  was  not  to  be  wearied  out  of  her  affection, 
by  all  the  waywardness  of  her  boy ;  nor  disheartened  by  the 
stories  of  his  misdeeds,  with  which  her  good  friends  were  con- 
tinually regaling  her.  She  had,  it  is  true,  very  little  of  the 
pleasure  which  rich  people  enjoy,  in  always  hearing  their  chil- 
dren praised ;  but  she  considered  all  this  ill-will  as  a  kind  of 
persecution  which  he  suffered,  and  she  liked  him  the  better  on 
that  account.  She  saw  him  growing  up,  a  fine,  tall,  good-look- 
ing youngster,  and  she  looked  at  him  with  the  secret  pride  of  a 
mother's  heart.  It  was  her  great  desire  that  Dolph  should 
appear  like  a  gentleman,  and  all  the  money  she  could  save 
went  towards  helping  out  his  pocket  and  his  wardrobe.  She 
would  look  out  of  the  window  after  him,  as  he  sallied  forth  in 
his  best  array,  and  her  heart  would  yearn  with  delight ;  and 
once,  when  Peter  de  Groodt,  struck  with  the  youngster's 
gallant  appearance  on  a  bright  Sunday  morning,  observed, 
"Well,  after  all,  Dolph  does  grow  a  comely  fellow!"  the  tear 
of  pride  started  into  the  mother's  eye :  "  Ah,  neighbour !  neigh- 
bour!" exclaimed  she,  "they  may  say  what  they  please;  poor 
Dolph  will  yet  hold  up  his  head  with  the  best  of  them." 

Dolph  Heyliger  had  now  nearly  attained  his  one-and-twenti- 
eth  year,  and  the  term  of  his  medical  studies  was  just  expiring; 
yet  it  must  be  confessed  that  he  knew  little  more  of  the  pro- 
fession than  when  he  first  entered  the  doctor's  doors.  This, 
however,  could  not  be  from  want  of  quickness  of  parts,  for  ha 


DOLPH  EEYLIOER.  267 

showed  amazing  aptness  in  mastering  other  branches  of  knowl- 
edge, which  he  could  only  have  studied  at  intervals.  He  was, 
for  instance,  a  sure  marksman,  and  won  all  the  geese  and 
turkeys  at  Christmas  holidays.  He  was  a  bold  rider ;  he  was 
famous  for  leaping  and  wrestling ;  he  played  tolerably  on  the 
fiddle ;  could  swim  like  a  fish ;  and  was  the  best  hand  in  the 
whole  place  at  fives  or  nine-pins. 

All  these  accomplishments,  however,  procured  him  no  favour 
in  the  eyes  of  the  doctor,  who  grew  more  and  more  crabbed 
and  intolerant,  the  nearer  the  term  of  apprenticeship  ap- 
proached. Frau  Ilsy,  too,  was  for  ever  finding  some  occasion 
to  raise  a  windy  tempest  about  his  ears ;  and  seldom  encoun- 
tered him  about  the  house,  without  a  clatter  of  the  tongue ;  so 
that  at  length  the  jingling  of  her  keys,  as  she  approached,  was 
to  Dolph  like  the  ringing  of  the  prompter's  bell,  that  gives 
notice  of  a  theatrical  thunder-storm.  Nothing  but  the  infinite 
good-humour  of  the  heedless  youngster,  enabled  him  to  bear  all 
this  domestic  tyranny  without  open  rebellion.  It  was  evident 
that  the  doctor  and  his  housekeeper  were  preparing  to  beat  the 
poor  youth  out  of  the  nest,  the  moment  his  term  should  have 
expired ;  a  shorthand  mode  winch  the  doctor  had  of  providing 
for  useless  disciples. 

Indeed,  the  little  man  had  been  rendered  more  than  usually 
irritable  lately,  in  consequence  of  various  cares  and  vexations 
which  his  country  estate  had  brought  upon  him.  The  doctor 
had  been  repeatedly  annoyed  by  the  rumours  and  tales  which 
prevailed  concerning  the  old  mansion ;  and  found  it  difficult  to 
prevail  even  upon  the  countryman  and  his  family  to  remain 
there  rent-free.  Every  time  he  rode  out  to  the  farm,  he  was 
teased  by  some  fresh  complaint  of  strange  noises  and  fearful 
sights,  with  which  the  tenants  were  disturbed  at  night;  and 
the  doctor  would  come  home  fretting  and  fuming,  and  vent  his, 
spleen  upon  the  whole  household.  It  was  indeed  a  sore  griev-j 
ance,  that  affected  him  both  in  pride  and  purse.  He  was 
threatened  with  an  absolute  loss  of  the  profits  of  his  property ; 
and  then,  what  a  blow  to  his  territorial  consequence,  to  be  the 
landlord  of  a  haunted  house ! 

It  was  observed,  however,  that  with  all  his  vexation,  the 
doctor  never  proposed  to  sleep  in  the  house  himself ;  nay,  he 
could  never  be  prevailed  upon  to  remain  in  the  premises  after 
dark,  but  made  the  best  of  his  way  for  town,  as  soon  as  the 
bats  began  to  flit  about  in  the  twilight.  The  fact  was,  the  doc- 
t;or  had  a  secret  belief  in  ghosts,  having  passed  the  early  part 


268  BRACEBKIXGE  HALL. 

of  his  life  in  a  country  where  they  particularly  abound ;  and 
indeed  the  story  went,  that,  when  a  boy,  he  had  once  seen  the 
devil  upon  the  Hartz  mountains  in  Germany. 

At  length,  the  doctor's  vexations  on  this  head  were  brought 
to  a  crisis.  One  morning,  as  he  sat  dozing  over  a  volume  in 
his  study,  he  was  suddenly  started  from  his  slumbers  by  the 
bustling  in  of  the  housekeeper. 

"Here's  a  fine  to  do!"  cried  she,  as  she  entered  the  room. 
"Here's  Glaus  Hopper  come  in,  bag  and  baggage,  from  the 
farm,  and  swear's  he'll  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  it.  The 
whole  family  have  been  frightened  out  of  their  wits;  for  there's 
such  racketing  and  rummaging  about  the  old  house,  ihat  they 
can't  sleep  quiet  in  their  beds !" 

" Donner  und  blitzen !"  cried  the  doctor,  impatiently;  "will 
they  never  have  done  chattering  about  that  house?  What  a 
pack  of  fools,  to  let  a  few  rats  and  mice  frighten  them  out  of 
good  quarters  I" 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  the  housekeeper,  wagging  her  head  know- 
ingly, and  piqued  at  having  a  good  ghost  story  doubted, 
"there's  more  in  it  than  rats  and  mice.  All  the  neighbour- 
hood talks  about  the  house ;  and  then  such  sights  have  been 
seen  in  it !  Peter  de  Groodt  tells  me,  that  the  family  that  sold 
you  the  house  and  went  to  Holland,  dropped  several  strange 
hints  about  it,  and  said, '  they  wished  you  joy  of  your  bargain ; ' 
and  you  know  yourself  there's  no  getting  any  family  to  live 
in  it." 

"Peter  de Groodt's  a  ninny — an  old  woman,"  said  the  doctor, 
peevishly;  "  I'll  warrant  he's  been  filling  these  people's  heads 
full  of  stories.  It's  just  like  his  nonsense  about  the  ghost  that 
haunted  the  church  belfry,  as  an  excuse  for  not  ringing  the 
bell  that  cold  night  when  Harmanus  BrinkerhofFs  house  was 
on  fire.  Send  Glaus  to  me." 

Glaus  Hopper  now  made  his  appearance :  a  simple  country 
lout,  full  of  awe  at  finding  himself  in  the  very  study  of  Dr. 
Knipperhausen,  and  too  much  embarrassed  to  enter  into  much 
detail  of  the  matters  that  had  caused  his  alarm.  He  stood 
twirling  his  hat  in  one  hand,  resting  sometimes  on  one  leg, 
sometimes  on  the  other,  looking  occasionally  at  the  doctor,  and 
now  and  then  stealing  a  fearful  glance  at  the  death's-head  that 
seemed  ogling  him  from  the  top  of  the  clothes-press. 

The  doctor  tried  every  means  to  persuade  him  to  return  to 
the  farm,  but  all  in  vain ;  he  maintained  a  dogged  determina- 
tion on  the  subject;  and  at  the  close  of  every  argument  of 


DOLPH  UBTLIGER. 

solicitation,  would  make  the  same  brief ,  inflexible  reply,  "Ich 
kan  nicht,  mynheer."  The  doctor  was  a  "little  pot,  and  soon 
hot ;"  his  patience  was  exhausted  by  these  continual  vexations 
about  his  estate.  The  stubborn  refusal  of  Glaus  Hopper  seemed 
to  him  like  flat  rebellion ;  his  temper  suddenly  boiled  over,  and 
Glaus  was  glad  to  make  a  rapid  retreat  to  escape  scalding. 

When  the  bumpkin  got  to  the  housekeeper's  room,  he  found 
Peter  de  Groodt,  and  several  other  true  believers,  ready  to 
receive  him.  Here  he  indemnified  himself  for  the  restraint  he 
had  suffered  in  the  study,  and  opened  a  budget  of  stories  about 
the  haunted  house  that  astonished  all  his  hearers.  The  house- 
keeper believed  them  all,  if  it  was  only  to  spite  the  doctor  for 
having  received  her  intelligence  so  uncourteously.  Peter  de 
Groodt  matched  them  with  many  a  wonderful  legend  of  the 
times  of  the  Dutch  dynasty,  and  of  the  Devil's  Stepping-stones ; 
and  of  the  pirate  that  was  hanged  at  Gibbet  Island,  and  con- 
tinued to  swing  there  at  night  long  after  the  gallows  was  taken 
down ;  and  of  the  ghost  of  the  unfortunate  Governor  Leisler, 
who  was  hanged  for  treason,  which  haunted  the  old  fort  and. 
the  government  house.  The  gossiping  knot  dispersed,  each, 
charged  with  direful  intelligence.  The  sexton  disburdened 
himself  at  a  vestry  meeting  that  was  held  that  very  day,  and 
the  black  cook  forsook  her  kitchen,  and  spent  half  the  day  at 
the  street  pump,  that  gossiping  place  of  servants,  dealing  forth 
the  news  to  all  that  came  for  water.  In  a  little  time,  the  whole 
town  was  in  a  buzz  with  tales  about  the  haunted  house.  Some 
said  that  Glaus  Hopper  had  seen  the  devil,  while  others  hinted 
that  the  house  was  haunted  by  the  ghosts  of  some  of  the 
patients  whom  the  doctor  had  physicked  out  of  the  world,  and 
that  was  the  reason  why  he  did  not  venture  to  live  in  it  him- 
self. 

i  All  this  put  the  little  doctor  in  a  terrible  fume.  He  threat- 
ened vengeance  on  any  one  who  should  affect  the  value  of  his 
property  by  exciting  popular  prejudices.  He  complained 
loudly  of  thus  being  in  a  manner  dispossessed  of  his  territories 
by  mere  bugbears;  but  he  secretly  determined  to  have  the 
house  exorcised  by  the  Dominie.  Great  was  his  relief,  there- 
fore, when,  in  the  midst  of  his  perplexities,  Dolph  stepped 
forward  and  undertook  to  garrison  the  haunted  house.  The 
youngster  had  been  listening  to  all  the  stories  of  Glaus  Hopper 
and  Peter  de  Groodt :  he  was  fond  of  adventure,  he  loved  the 
marvellous,  and  his  imagination  had  become  quite  excited  by 
these  tales  of  wonder.  Besides,  he  had  led  such  an  uncomf  ort- 


270  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

able  life  at  the  doctor's,  being  subjected  to  the  intolerable 
thraldom  of  early  hours,  that  he  was  delighted  at  the  prospect 
of  having  a  house  to  himself,  even  though  it  should  be  a 
haunted  one.  His  offer  was  eagerly  accepted,  and  it  was  de- 
termined that  he  should  mount  guard  that  very  night.  His 
only  stipulation  was,  that  the  enterprise  should  be  kept  secret 
from  his  mother ;  for  he  knew  the  poor  soul  would  not  sleep  a 
wink,  if  she  knew  that  her  son  was  waging  war  with  the 
powers  of  darkness. 

When  night  came  on,  he  set  out  on  this  perilous  expedition. 
The  old  black  cook,  his  only  friend  in  the  household,  had  pro- 
vided him  with  a  little  mess  for  supper,  and  a  rushlight;  and 
she  tied  round  his  neck  an  amulet,  given  her  by  an  African 
conjurer,  as  a  charm  against  evil  spirits.  Dolph  was  escorted 
on  his  way  by  the  doctor  and  Peter  de  Groodt,  who  had  agreed 
to  accompany  him  to  the  house,  and  to  see  him  safe  lodged. 
The  night  was  overcast,  and  it  was  very  dark  when  they 
arrived  at  the  grounds  which  surrounded  the  mansion.  The 
sexton  led  the  way  with  a  lantern.  As  they  walked  along  the 
avenue  of  acacias,  the  fitful  light,  catching  from  bush  to  bush, 
and  tree  to  tree,  often  startled  the  doughty  Peter,  and  made 
him  fall  back  upon  his  followers ;  and  the  doctor  grabbed  still 
closer  hold  of  Dolph's  arm,  observing  that  the  ground  was 
very  slippery  and  uneven.  At  one  time  they  were  nearly  put 
to  a  total  rout  by  a  bat,  which  came  flitting  about  the  lan- 
tern; and  the  notes  of  the  insects  from  the  trees,  and  the  frogs 
from  a  neighbouring  pond,  formed  a  most  drowsy  and  doleful 
concert. 

The  front  door  of  the  mansion  opened  with  a  grating  sound, 
that  made  the  doctor  turn  pale.  They  entered  a  tolerably 
large  hall,  such  as  is  common  in  American  country-houses, 
and  which  serves  for  a  sitting-room  in  warm  weather.  From 
•  hence  they  went  up  a  wide  staircase,  that  groaned  and  croaked 
as  they  trod,  every  step  making  its  particular  note,  like  the 
key  of  a  harpsichord.  This  led  to  another  hall  on  the  second 
story,  from  whence  they  entered  the  room  where  Dolph  was 
to  sleep.  It  was  large,  and  scantily  furnished;  the  shutters 
were  closed ;  but  as  they  were  much  broken,  there  was  no  want 
of  a  circulation  of  air.  It  appeared  to  have  been  that  sacred 
chamber,  known  among  Dutch  housewives  by  the  name  of 
"the  best  bed-room;"  which  is  tho  host  furnished  room  in  the 
house,  but  in  which  scarce  any  body  is  ever  permitted  to  sleep. 
Its  splendour,  however,  was  all  at  an  end.  There  were  a  few 


DOLPH  HEYLIGER.  271 

broken  articles  of  furniture  about  the  room,  and  in  the  cemre 
stood  a  heavy  deal  table  and  a  large  arm-chair,  both  of  which 
had  the  look  of  being  coeval  with  the  mansion.  The  fire-place 
was  wide,  and  had  been  faced  with  Dutch  tiles,  representing 
scripture  stories;  but  some  of  them  had  fallen  out  of  their 
places,  and  lay  shattered  about  the  hearth.  The  sexton  had  lit 
the  rushlight;  and  the  doctor,  looking  fearfully  about  the 
room,  was  just  exhorting  Dolph  to  be  of  good  cheer,  and  to 
pluck  up  a  stout  heart,  when  a  noise  in  the  chimney,  like 
voices  and  struggling,  struck  a  sudden  panic  into  the  sexton. 
He  took  to  his  heels  with  the  lantern ;  the  doctor  followed  hard 
after  him;  the  stairs  groaned  and  creaked  as  they  hurried 
down,  increasing  their  agitation  and  speed  by  its  noises.  The 
front  door  slammed  after  them;  and  Dolph  heard  them  scrab- 
bling down  the  avenue,  till  the  sound  of  their  feet  was  lost  in 
the  distance.  That  he  did  not  join  in  this  precipitate  retreat, 
might  have  been  owing  to  his  possessing  a  little  more  courage 
than  his  companions,  or  perhaps  that  he  had  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  cause  of  their  dismay,  in  a  nest  of  chimney  swallows, 
that  came  tumbling  down  into  the  fire-place. 

Being  now  left  to  himself,  he  secured  the  front  door  by  a 
strong  bolt  and  bar ;  and  having  seen  that  the  other  entrances 
were  fastened,  he  returned  to  his  desolate  chamber.  Having 
made  his  supper  from  the  basket  which  the  good  old  cook  had 
provided,  he  locked  the  chamber  door,  and  retired  to  rest  on  a 
mattress  in  one  corner.  The  night  was  cann  and  still;  and 
nothing  broke  upon  the  profound  quiet  but  the  lonely  chirping 
of  a  cricket  from  the  chimney  of  a  distant  chamber.  The 
rushlight,  which  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  deal  table,  shed  a 
feeble  yellow  ray,  dimly  illumining  the  chamber,  and  making 
uncouth  shapes  and  shadows  on  the  walls,  from  the  clothes 
which  Dolph  had  thrown  over  a  chair. 

With  all  his  boldness  of  heart,  there  was  something  subduing 
in  this  desolate  scene ;  and  he  felt  his  spirits  flag  within  him, 
as  he  lay  on  his  hard  bed  and  gazed  about  the  room.  He  was 
turning  over  in  his  mind  his  idle  habits,  his  doubtful  prospects, 
and  now  and  then  heaving  a  heavy  sigh,  as  he  thought  on  his 
poor  old  mother;  for  there  is  nothing  like  the  silence  and  lone- 
liness of  night  to  bring  dark  shadows  over  the  brightest  mind. 
By-and-by,  he  thought  he  heard  a  sound  as  if  some  one  was 
walking  below  stairs.  He  listened,  and  distinctly  heard  a  step 
on  the  great  staircase.  It,  approached  solemnly  and  slowly, 
tramp— tramp— tramp !  It  was  evidently  the  tread,  of  some 


272  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

heavy  personage;  and  yet  how  could  he  have  got  into  the 
house  without  making  a  noise?  He  had  examined  all  the 
fastenings,  and  was  certain  that  every  entrance  was  secure. 
Still  the  steps  advanced,  tramp — tramp — tramp!  It  was  evi- 
dent that  the  person  approaching  could  not  be  a  robber — the 
step  was  too  loud  and  deliberate;  a  robber  would  either  be 
stealthy  or  precipitate.  And  now  the  footsteps  had  ascended 
the  staircase ;  they  were  slowly  advancing  along  the  passage, 
resounding  through  the  silent  and  empty  apartments.  The 
very  cricket  had  ceased  its  melancholy  note,  and  nothing 
interrupted  their  awful  distinctness.  The  door,  which  had 
been  locked  on  the  inside,  slowly  swung  open,  as  if  self -moved. 
The  footsteps  entered  the  room ;  but  no  one  was  to  be  seen. 
They  passed  slowly  and  audibly  across  it,  tramp — tramp — 
trump!  but  whatever  made  the  sound  was  invisible.  Dolph 
rubbed  his  eyes,  and  stared  about  him ;  he  could  see  to  every 
part  of  the  dimly -lighted  chamber;  all  was  vacant;  yet  still 
he  heard  those  mysterious  footsteps,  solemnly  walking  about 
the  chamber.  They  ceased,  and  all  was  dead  silence.  There 
was  something  more  appalling  in  this  invisible  visitation,  than 
there  would  have  been  in  anything  that  addressed  itself  to  the 
eyesight.  It  was  awfully  vague  and  indefinite.  He  felt  his 
heart  beat  against  liis  ribs;  a  cold  sweat  broke  out  upon  his 
forehead;  he  lay  for  some  time  in  a  state  of  violent  agitation; 
nothing,  however,  occurred  to  increase  his  alarm.  His  light 
gradually  burnt  down  into  the  socket,  and  he  fell  asleep. 
When  he  awoke  it  was  broad  daylight ;  the  sun  was  peering 
through  the  cracks  of  the  window-shutters,  and  the  birds  were 
merrily  singing  about  the  house.  The  bright,  cheery  day  soon 
put  to  flight  all  the  terrors  of  the  preceding  night.  Dolph 
laughed,  or  rather  tried  to  laugh,  at  all  that  had  passed,  and 
endeavoured  to  persuade  himself  that  it  was  a  mere  freak  of 
the  imagination,  conjured  up  by  the  stories  he  had  heard ;  but 
he  was  a  little  puzzled  to  find  the  door  of  his  room  locked  on 
the  inside,  notwithstanding  that  he  had  positively  seen  it 
swing  open  as  the  footsteps  had  entered.  He  returned  to  town 
in  a  state  of  considerable  perplexity ;  but  he  determined  to  say 
nothing  on  the  subject,  until  his  doubts  were  either  confirmed 
or  removed  by  another  night's  watching.  His  silence  was  a 
grievous  disappointment  to  the  gossips  who  had  gathered  at 
the  doctor's  mansion.  They  had  prepared  their  minds  to  hear 
direful  tales;  and  they  were  almost  in  a  rage  at  being  assured 
that  he  had  nothing  to  relate. 


DOLPH  HEYLIGEB.  273 

The  next  night,  then,  Dolph  repeated  his  vigil.  He  now 
entered  the  house  with  some  trepidation.  He  was  particular 
in  examining  the  fastenings  of  all  the  doors,  and  securing  them 
well.  He  locked  the  door  of  his  chamber,  and  placed  a  chair 
against  it ;  then,  having  despatched  his  supper,  he  threw  him- 
self on  his  mattress  and  endeavoured  to  sleep.  It  was  all  in 
vain— a  thousand  crowding  fancies  kept  him  waking.  The 
time  slowly  dragged  on,  as  if  minutes  were  spinning  out  them- 
selves into  hours.  As  the  night  advanced,  he  grew  more  and 
more  nervous ;  and  he  almost  started  from  his  couch,  when  he 
heard  the  mysterious  footstep  again  on  the  staircase.  Up  it 
came,  as  before,  solemnly  and  slowly,  tramp — tramp — tramp ! 
It  approached  along  the  passage ;  the  door  again  swung  open, 
as  if  there  had  been  neither  lock  nor  impediment,  and  a  strange- 
looking  figure  stalked  into  the  room.  It  was  an  elderly  man, 
large  and  robust,  clothed  in  the  old  Flemish  fashion.  He  had 
on  a  kind  of  short  cloak,  with  a  garment  under  it,  belted 
round  the  waist;  trunk  hose,  with  great  bunches  or  bows  at 
the  knees ;  and  a  pair  of  russet  boots,  very  large  at  top,  and 
standing  widely  from  his  legs.  His  hat  was  broad  and  slouched, 
with  a  feather  trailing  over  one  side.  His  iron-gray  hair  hung 
in  thick  masses  on  his  neck ;  and  he  had  a  short  grizzled  beard. 
He  walked  slowly  round  the  room,  as  if  examining  that  all  was 
safe;  then,  hanging  his  hat  on  a  peg  beside  the  door,  he  sat 
down  in  the  elbow-chair,  and,  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  table, 
he  fixed  his  eyes  on  Dolph  with  an  unmoving  and  deadening 
stare. 

Dolph  was  not  naturally  a  coward ;  but  he  had  been  brought 
up  in  an  implicit  belief  in  ghosts  and  goblins.  A  thousand 
stories  came  swarming  to  his  mind,  that  he  had  heard  about 
this  building ;  and  as  he  looked  at  this  strange  personage,  with 
his  uncouth  garb,  his  pale  visage,  his  grizzly  beard,  and  his 
fixed,  staring,  fish-like  eye,  his  teeth  began  to  chatter,  his  hair 
to  rise  on  his  head,  and  a  cold  sweat  to  break  out  all  over  his 
body.  How  long  he  remained  in  this  situation  he  could  not 
tell,  for  he  was  like  one  fascinated.  He  could  not  take  his  gaze 
off  from  the  spectre;  but  lay  staring  at  him  with  his  whole 
intellect  absorbed  in  the  contemplation.  The  old  man  remained 
seated  behind  the  table,  without  stirring  or  turning  an  eye, 
always  keeping  a  dead  steady  glare  upon  Dolph.  At  length 
the  household  cock  from  a  neighbouring  farm  clapped  his 
wings,  and  gave  a  loud  cheerful  crow  that  rung  over  the  fields. 
At  the  sound,  the  old  man  slowly  rose  and  took  down  his  hat 


274  SRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

from  the  peg;  the  door  opened  and  closed  after  him;  he  wad 
heard  to  go  slowly  down  the  staircase  —tramp — tramp — tramp ! 
— and  when  he  had  got  to  the  bottom,  all  was  again  silent. 
Dolph  lay  and  listened  earnestly;  counted  every  footfall; 
listened  and  listened  if  the  steps  should  return — until,  ex- 
hausted by  watching  and  agitation,  he  fell  into  a  troubled 
sleep. 

Daylight  again  brought  fresh  courage  and  assurance.  He 
would  fain  have  considered  all  that  had  passed  as  a  mere 
dream ;  yet  there  stood  the  chair  in  which  the  unknown  had 
seated  himself;  there  was  the  table  on  which  he  had  leaned; 
there  was  the  peg  on  which  he  had  hung  his  hat ;  and  there 
was  the  door,  locked  precisely  as  he  himself  had  locked  it,  with 
the  chair  placed  against  it.  He  hastened  down-stairs  and 
examined  the  doors  and  windows ;  all  were  exactly  in  the  same 
state  in  which  he  had  left  them,  and  there  was  no  apparent 
way  by  which  any  being  could  have  entered  and  left  the  house 
without  leaving  some  trace  behind.  "Pooh!"  said  Dolph  to 
himself,  "it  was  all  a  dream;" — but  it  would  not  do;  the  more 
he  endeavoured  to  shake  the  scene  off  from  his  mind,  the 
more  it  haunted  him. 

Though  he  persisted  in  a  strict  silence  as  to  all  that  he  had  seen 
or  heard,  yet  his  looks  betrayed  the  uncomfortable  night  that 
he  had  passed.  It  was  evident  that  there  was  something  won- 
derful hidden  under  this  mysterious  reserve.  The  doctor  took 
him  into  the  study,  locked  the  door,  and  sought  to  have  a  full 
and  confidential  communication ;  but  he  could  get  nothing  out 
of  him.  Frau  Ilsy  took  him  aside  into  the  pantry,  but  to  as 
little  purpose ;  and  Peter  de  Groodt  held  him  by  the  button  for 
a  full  hour  in  the  church-yard,  the  very  place  to  get  at  the 
bottom  of  a  ghost  story,  but  came  off  not  a  whit  wiser  than  the 
rest.  It  is  always  the  case,  however,  that  one  truth  concealed 
makes  a  dozen  current  lies.  It  is  like  a  guinea  locked  up  in  a 
bank,  that  has  a  dozen  paper  representatives.  Before  the  day 
was  over,  the  neighbourhood  was  full  of  reports.  Some  said 
that  Dolph  Heyliger  watched  in  the  haunted  house  with  pistols 
loaded  with  silver  bullets ;  others,  that  he  had  a  long  talk  with 
the  spectre  without  a  head ;  others,  that  Doctor  Knipperhausen 
and  the  sexton  had  been  hunted  down  the  Bowery  lane,  and 
quite  into  town,  by  a  legion  of  ghosts  of  their  customers.  Some 
shook  their  heads,  and  thought  it  a  shame  that  the  doctor 
should  put  Dolph  to  pass  the  night  alone  in  that  dismal  house, 
Where  he  might  be  spirited  away,  no  one  knew  whither;  while 


DOLPH  BEYLIGm.  275 

others  observed,  with  a  shrug,  that  if  the  devil  did  carry  off 
the  youngster,  it  would  be  but  taking  his  own. 

These  rumours  at  length  reached  the  ears  of  the  good  Dame 
Heyliger,  and,  as  may  be  supposed,  threw  her  into  a  terrible 
alarm.  For  her  son  to  have  opposed  himself  to  danger  from 
living  foes,  would  have  been  nothing  so  dreadful  in  her  eyes  as 
to  dare  alone  the  terrors  of  the  haunted  house.  She  hastened 
to  the  doctor's,  and  passed  a  great  part  of  the  day  in  attempt- 
ing to  dissuade  Dolph  from  repeating  his  vigil ;  she  told  him  a 
score  of  tales,  which  her  gossiping  friends  had  just  related  to 
her,  of  persons  who  had  been  carried  off  when  watching  alone 
in  old  ruinous  houses.  It  was  all  to  no  effect.  Dolph's  pride, 
as  well  as  curiosity,  was  piqued.  He  endeavoured  to  calm  the 
apprehensions  of  his  mother,  and  to  assure  her  that  there  was 
no  truth  in  all  the  rumours  she  had  heard ;  she  looked  at  him 
dubiously,  and  shook  her  head ;  but  finding  his  determination 
was  not  to  be  shaken,  she  brought  him  a  little  thick  Dutch  Bible, 
with  brass  clasps,  to  take  with  him,  as  a  sword  wherewith  to 
fight  the  powers  of  darkness ;  and,  lest  that  might  not  be  suffi- 
cient, the  housekeeper  gave  him  the  Heidelburgh  catechism  by 
way  of  dagger. 

The  next  night,  therefore,  Dolph  took  up  his  quarters  for  the 
third  time  in  the  old  mansion.  Whether  dream  or  not,  the 
same  thing  was  repeated.  Towards  midnight,  when  every 
thing  was  still,  the  same  sound  echoed  through  the  empty 
halls — tramp — tramp— tramp !  The  stairs  were  again  ascended ; 
the  door  again  swung  open ;  the  old  man  entered,  walked  round 
the  room,  hung  up  his  hat,  and  seated  himself  by  the  table. 
The  same  fear  and  trembling  came  over  poor  Dolph,  though 
not  in  so  violent  a  degree.  He  lay  in  the  same  way,  motion- 
less and  fascinated,  staring  at  the  figure,  which  regarded  him, 
as  before,  with  a  dead,  fixed,  chilling  gaze.  In  this  way  they 
remained  for  a  long  time,  till,  by  degrees,  Dolph's  cour- 
age began  gradually  to  revive.  Whether  alive  or  dead,  this 
being  had  certainly  some  object  in  his  visitation;  and  he  re- 
collected to  have  heard  it  said,  that  spirits  have  no  power  to 
speak  until  they  are  spoken  to.  Summoning  up  resolution, 
therefore,  and  making  two  or  three  attempts  before  he  could 
get  his  parched  tongue  in  motion,  he  addressed  the  unknown 
in  the  most  solemn  form  of  adjuration  that  he  could 
recollect,  and  demanded  to  know  what  was  the  motive  of  his 
visit. 

No  sooner  had  he  finished,  than  the  old  man  rose,  took 


276  LRACEBR1DGB  HALL. 

down  his  hat,  the  door  opened,  and  he  went  out,  looking  back 
upon  Dolph  just  as  he  crossed  the  threshold,  as  if  expecting 
him  to  follow.  The  youngster  did  not  hesitate  an  instant.  He 
took  the  candle  in  his  hand,  and  the  Bible  under  his  arm,  and 
obeyed  the  tacit  invitation.  The  candle  emitted  a  feeble, 
uncertain  ray;  but  still  he  could  see  the  figure  before  him, 
slowly  descend  the  stairs.  He  followed,  trembling.  When  it 
had  reached  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  it  turned  through  the 
hall  towards  the  back  door  of  the  mansion.  Dolph  held  the 
light  over  the  balustrades;  but,  in  his  eagerness  to  catch  a 
sight  of  the  unknown,  he  flared  his  feeble  taper  so  suddenly, 
that  it  went  out.  Still  there  was  sufficient  light  from  the  pule 
moonbeams,  that  fell  through  a  narrow  window,  to  give  him 
an  indistinct  view  of  the  figure,  near  the  door.  He  followed, 
therefore,  down-stairs,  and  turned  towards  the  place ;  but  when 
he  had  got  there,  the  unknown  had  disappeared.  The  door 
remained  fast  barred  and  bolted ;  there  was  no  other  mode  of 
exit;  yet  the  being,  whatever  he  might  be,  was  gone.  He 
unfastened  the  door,  and  looked  out  into  the  fields.  It  was  a 
hazy,  moonlight  night,  so  that  the  eye  could  distinguish  objects 
at  some  distance.  He  thought  he  saw  the  unknown  in  a  foot- 
path that  led  from  the  door.  He  was  not  mistaken ;  but  how 
had  he  got  out  of  the  house?  He  did  not  pause  to  think,  but 
followed  on.  The  old  man  proceeded  at  a  measured  pace,  with- 
out  looking  about  him,  his  footsteps  sounding  on  the  hard 
ground.  He  passed  through  the  orchard  of  apple-trees  that 
stood  near  the  house,  always  keeping  the  footpath.  It  led  to 
a  well,  situated  in  a  little  hollow,  which  had  supplied  the  farm 
with  water.  Just  at  this  well,  Dolph  lost  sight  of  him.  He 
rubbed  his  eyes,  and  looked  again ;  but  nothing  was  to  be  seen 
of  the  unknown.  He  reached  the  well,  but  nobody  was  there. 
All  the  surrounding  ground  was  open  and  clear ;  there  was  no 
bush  nor  hiding-place.  He  looked  down  the  well,  and  saw,  at 
a  great  depth,  the  reflection  of  the  sky  in  the  still  water.  After 
remaining  here  for  some  time,  without  seeing  or  hearing  any 
thing  more  of  his  mysterious  conductor,  he  returned  to  the 
house,  full  of  awe  and  wonder.  He  bolted  the  door,  groped  hid 
way  back  to  bed,  and  it  was  long  before  he  could  compose  him- 
self  to  sleep. 

His  dreams  were  strange  and  troubled.  He  thought  he  was 
following  the  old  man  along  the  side  of  a  great  river,  until  they 
came  to  a  vessel  that  was  on  the  point  of  sailing;  and  that  his 
conductor  led  him  on  board  and  vanished.  He  remembered 


DOLPH  HEYLIGER.  277 

the  commander  of  the  vessel,  a  short  swarthy  man,  with 
crisped  black  hair,  blind  of  one  eye,  and  lame  of  one  leg;  but 
the  rest  of  his  dream  was  very  confused.  Sometimes  he  was 
sailing;  sometimes  on  shore;  now  amidst  storms  and  tem- 
pests, and  now  wandering  quietly  in  unknown  streets.  The 
figure  of  the  old  man  was  strangely  mingled  up  with  the  in- 
cidents of  the  dream ;  and  the  whole  distinctly  wound  up  by 
his  finding  himself  on  board  of  the  vessel  again,  returning 
home,  with  a  great  bag  of  money ! 

When  he  woke,  the  gray,  cool  light  of  dawn  was  streaking 
the  horizon,  and  the  cocks  passing  the  reveil  from  farm  to  farm 
throughout  the  country.  He  rose  more  harassed  and  perplexed 
than  ever.  He  was  singularly  confounded  by  all  that  he  had 
seen  and  dreamt,  and  began  to  doubt  whether  his  mind  was 
not  affected,  and  whether  all  that  was  passing  in  his  thoughts 
might  not  be  mere  feverish  fantasy.  In  his  present  state  of 
mind,  he  did  not  feel  disposed  to  return  immediately  to  the 
doctor's,  and  undergo  the  cross-questioning  of  the  household. 
He  made  a  scanty  breakfast,  therefore,  on  the  remains  of  the 
last  night's  provisions,  and  then  wandered  out  into  the  fields  to 
meditate  on  all  that  had  befallen  him.  Lost  in  thought,  he 
rambled  about,  gradually  approaching  the  town,  until  the 
morning  was  far  advanced,  when  he  was  roused  by  a  hurry 
and  bustle  around  him.  He  found  himself  near  the  water's 
edge,  in  a  throng  of  people,  hurrying  to  a  pier,  where  there 
was  a  vessel  ready  to  make  sail.  He  was  unconsciously  car- 
ried along  by  the  impulse  of  the  crowd,  and  found  that  it  was 
a  sloop,  on  the  point  of  sailing  up  the  Hudson  to  Albany. 
There  was  much  leave-taking  and  kissing  of  old  women  and 
children,  and  great  activity  in  carrying  on  board  baskets  of 
bread  and  cakes,  and  provisions  of  all  kinds,  notwithstanding 
the  mighty  joints  of  meat  that  dangled  over  the  stern ;  for  a 
voyage  to  Albany  was  an  expedition  of  great  moment  in  those 
days.  The  commander  of  the  sloop  was  hurrying  about,  and 
giving  a  world  of  orders,  which  were  not  very  strictly  attend- 
ed to ;  one  man  being  busy  in  lighting  his  pipe,  and  another 
in  sharpening  his  snicker-snee. 

The  appearance  of  the  commander  suddenly  caught  Dolph's 
attention.  He  was  short  and  swarthy,  with  crisped  black 
hair ;  blind  of  one  eye,  and  lame  of  one  leg — the  very  com- 
mander that  he  had  seen  in  his  dream !  Surprised  and  aroused, 
he  considered  the  scene  more  attentively,  and  recalled  still 
further  traces  of  his  dream:  the  appearance  of  the  vessel,  of 


278  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

the  river,  and  of  a  variety  of  other  objects,  accorded  with  tha 
imperfect  images  vaguely  rising  to  recollection. 

As  he  stood  musing  on  these  circumstances,  the  captain 
suddenly  called  out  to  him  in  Dutch,  "Step  on  board,  young 
man,  or  you'll  be  left  behind  1"  He  was  startled  by  the  sum- 
mons ;  he  saw  that  the  sloop  was  cast  loose,  and  was  actually 
moving  from  the  pier;  it  seemed  as  if  he  was  actuated  by  some 
irresistible  impulse;  he  sprang  upon  the  deck,  and  the  next 
moment  the  sloop  was  hurried  off  by  the  wind  and  tide. 
Dolph's  thoughts  and  f eelings  were  all  in  tumult  and  confusion. 
He  had  been  strongly  worked  upon  by  the  events  that  had 
recently  befallen  him,  and  could  not  but  think  that  there  was 
some  connexion  between  his  present  situation  and  his  last 
night's  dream.  He  felt  as  if  he  was  under  supernatural  in- 
fluence ;  and  he  tried  to  assure  himself  with  an  old  and  favour- 
ite maxim  of  his,  that  "  one  way  or  other,  all  would  turn  out 
for  the  best."  For  a  moment,  the  indignation  of  the  doctor  at 
his  departure  without  leave,  passed  across  his  mind — but  that 
was  matter  of  little  moment.  Then  he  thought  of  the  distress 
of  his  mother  at  his  strange  disappearance,  and  the  idea  gave 
him  a  sudden  pang ;  ho  would  have  entreated  to  be  put  on 
shore;  but  he  knew  with  such  wind  and  tide  the  entreaty 
would  have  been  in  vain.  Then,  the  inspiring  love  of  novelty 
and  adventure  came  rushing  in  full  tide  through  his  bosom ;  he 
felt  himself  launched  strangely  and  suddenly  on  the  world,  and 
under  full  way  to  explore  the  regions  of  wonder  that  lay  up 
this  mighty  river,  and  beyond  those  blue  mountains  that  had 
bounded  his  horizon  since  childhood.  While  he  was  lost  in  this 
whirl  of  thought,  the  sails  strained  to  the  breeze ;  the  shores 
seemed  to  hurry  away  behind  him ;  and,  before  he  perfectly 
recovered  his  self-possession,  the  sloop  was  ploughing  her  way 
past  Spiking-devil  and  Yonkers,  and  the  tallest  chimney  of  the 
Manhattoes  had  faded  from  his  sipht. 

I  have  said,  that  a  voyage  up  the  Hudson  in  those  days  was 
an  undertaking  of  some  moment;  indeed,  it  was  as  much 
thought  of  as  a  voyage  to  Europe  is  at  present.  The  sloops 
were  often  many  days  on  the  way ;  the  cautious  navigators 
taking  in  sail  when  it  blew  fresh,  and  coming  to  anchor  at 
night ;  and  stopping  to  send  the  boat  ashore  for  milk  for  tea, 
without  which  it  was  impossible  for  the  worthy  old  lady  pas- 
sengers to  subsist.  And  there  were  the  much-talked-of  perils 
of  the  Tappaan  Zee,  and  the  highlands.  In  short,  a  prudent 
Dutch  burgher  would  talk  of  such  a  voyage  for  months,  and 


DOLPH  HEYLIGER.  279 

even  years,  beforehand ;  and  never  undertook  it  without  put- 
ting his  affairs  in  order,  making  his  will,  and  having  prayers 
said  for  him  in  the  Low  Dutch  churches. 

In  the  course  of  such  a  voyage,  therefore,  Dolph  was  satisfied 
he  would  have  time  enough  to  reflect,  and  to  make  up  his  mind 
as  to  what  he  should  do  when  he  arrived  at  Albany.  The  cap- 
tain, with  his  bund  eye  and  lame  leg,  would,  it  is  true,  bring  his 
strange  dream  to  mind,  and  perplex  him  sadly  for  a  few  mo- 
ments; but,  of  late,  his  life  had  been  made  up  so  much  of 
dreams  and  realities,  his  nights  and  days  had  been  so  jumbled 
together,  that  he  seemed  to  be  moving  continually  in  a  de- 
lusion. There  is  always,  however,  a  kind  of  vagabond  con- 
solation in  a  man's  having  nothing  in  this  world  to  lose ;  with 
this  Dolph  comforted  his  heart,  and  determined  to  make  the 
most  of  the  present  enjoyment. 

In  the  second  day  of  the  voyage  they  came  to  the  high- 
lands. It  was  the  latter  part  of  a  calm,  sultry  day,  that  they 
floated  gently  with  the  tide  between  these  stern  mountains. 
Theie  was  that  perfect  quiet  which  prevails  over  nature  in 
the  languor  of  summer  heat ;  the  turning  of  a  plank,  or  the 
accidental  falling  of  an  oar  on  deck,  was  echoed  from  Mie 
mountain  side  and  reverberated  along  the  shores;  and  if  by 
chance  the  captain  gave  a  shout  of  command,  there  were  airy 
tongues  that  mocked  it  from  every  cliff . 

Dolph  gazed  about  him  in  mute  delight  and  wonder,  at  these 
scenes  of  nature's  magnificence.  To  the  left  the  Dunderberg 
reared  its  woody  precipices,  height  over  height,  forest  over 
forest,  away  into  the  deep  summer  sky.  To  the  right  strutted 
forth  the  bold  promontory  of  Anthony's  Nose,  with  a  solitary 
eagle  wheeling  about  it ;  while  beyond,  mountain  succeeded  to 
mountain,  until  they  seemed  to  lock  their  arms  together,  and 
confine  this  mighty  river  in  their  embraces.  There  was  a  feel- 
ing of  quiet  luxury  in  gazing  at  the  broad,  green  bosoms  here 
and  there  scooped  out  among  the  precipices ;  or  at  woodlands 
high  in  air,  nodding  over  the  edge  of  some  beetling  bluff,  and 
their  foliage  all  transparent  in  the  yellow  sunshine. 

In  the  midst  of  his  admiration,  Dolph  remarked  a  pile  of 
bright,  snowy  clouds  peering  above  the  western  heights.  It 
was  succeeded  by  another,  and  another,  each  seemingly  push- 
ing onwards  its  predecessor,  and  towering,  with  dazzling  bril- 
liancy, in  the  deep-blue  atmosphere :  and  now  muttering  peals 
of  thunder  were  faintly  heard  rolling  behind  the  mountains. 
The  river,  hitherto  still  and  glassy,  reflecting  pictures  of  the 


280  BRACEBRIDOE  EAT.L. 

sky  and  land,  now  showed  a  dark  ripple  at  a  distance,  as  tho 
breeze  came  creeping  up  it.  The  fish-hawks  wheeled  and 
screamed,  and  sought  their  nests  on  the  high  dry  trees ;  the 
crows  flew  clamorously  to  the  crevices  of  the  rocks,  and  all 
nature  seemed  conscious  of  the  approaching  thunder-gust. 

The  clouds  now  rolled  in  volumes  over  the  mountain  tops; 
their  summits  still  bright  and  snowy,  but  the  lower  parts  of  an 
inky  blackness.  The  rain  began  to  patter  down  in  broad  and 
scattered  drops ;  the  wind  freshened,  and  curled  up  the  waves ; 
at  length  it  seemed  as  if  the  bellying  clouds  were  torn  open  by 
the  mountain  tops,  and  complete  torrents  of  rain  came  rattling 
down.  The  lightning  leaped  from  cloud  to  cloud,  and  streamed 
quivering  against  the  rocks,  splitting  and  rending  the  stoutest 
forest  trees.  The  thunder  burst  in  tremendous  explosions ;  the 
peals  were  echoed  from  mountain  to  mountain;  they  crashed 
upon  Dunderberg,  and  rolled  up  the  long  defile  of  the  high- 
lands, each  headland  making  a  new  echo,  until  old  Bull  hill 
seemed  to  bellow  bark  the  storm. 

For  a  time  the  scudding  rack  and  mist,  and  the  sheeted  rain. 
almost  hid  the  landscape  from  the  sight.  There  was  a  fearful 
gloom,  illumined  still  more  fearfully  by  the  streams  of  light- 
ning which  ghttered  among  the  rain-drops.  Never  had  Dolph 
beheld  such  an  absolute  warring  of  the  elements:  it  seemed  as 
if  the  storm  was  tearing  and  rending  its  way  through  this 
mountain  defile,  and  had  brought  all  the  artillery  of  heaven 
into  action. 

The  vessel  was  hurried  on  by  the  increasing  wind,  until  she 
came  to  where  the  river  makes  a  sudden  bend,  the  only  one  in 
the  whole  course  of  its  majestic  career.*  Just  as  they  turned 
the  point,  a  violent  flaw  of  wir.d  came  sweeping  down  a  moun- 
tain gully,  bending  the  forest  before  it,  and,  in  a  moment,  lash- 
ing up  the  river  into  white  froth  and  foam.  The  captain  saw 
the  danger,  and  cried  out  to  lower  the  sail.  Before  the  order 
could  be  obeyed,  the  flaw  struck  the  sloop,  and  threw  her  on 
her  beam-ends.  Everything  was  now  fright  and  confusion: 
the  flapping  of  the  sails,  the  whistling  and  rushing  of  the  wind, 
the  bawling  of  the  captain  and  crew,  the  shrieking  of  the  pas- 
sengers, all  mingled  with  the  rolling  and  bellowing  of  the  thun- 
der. In  the  midst  of  the  uproar,  the  sloop  righted;  at  the 
same  tune  the  mainsail  shifted,  the  boom  came  sweeping  the 


*  This  muni  have  been  the  bend  at  West-Point. 


DOLPH  HEYLIOER.  281 

quarter-deck,  and  Dolph,  who  was  gazing  unguardedly  at  the 
clouds,  found  himself,  in  a  moment,  floundering  in  the  river. 

For  once  in  his  life,  one  of  his  idle  accomplishments  was  of 
use  to  him.  The  many  truant  hours  which  he  had  devoted  to 
sporting  in  the  Hudson,  had  made  him  an  expert  swimmer; 
yet,  with  all  his  strength  and  skill,  he  found  great  difficulty  in 
reaching  the  shore.  His  disappearance  from  the  deck  had  not 
been  noticed  by  the  crew,  who  were  all  occupied  by  their  own 
danger.  The  sloop  was  driven  along  with  inconceivable  rapid- 
ity. She  had  hard  work  to  weather  a  long  promontory  on  the 
eastern  shore,  round  which  the  river  turned,  and  which  com- 
pletely shut  her  from  Dolph's  view. 

It  was  on  a  point  of  the  western  shore  that  he  landed,  and, 
scrambling  up  the  rocks,  he  threw  himself,  faint  and  exhausted, 
at  the  foot  of  a  tree.  By  degrees,  the  thunder-gust  passed 
over.  The  clouds  rolled  away  to  the  east,  where  they  lay  piled 
in  feathery  masses,  tinted  with  the  last  rosy  rays  of  the  sun. 
The  distant  play  of  the  lightning  might  be  seen  about  the  dark 
bases,  and  now  and  then  might  be  heard  the  faint  muttering  of 
the  thunder.  Dolph  rose,  and  sought  about  to  see  if  any  path 
led  from  the  shore ;  but  all  was  savage  and  trackless.  The 
rocks  were  piled  upon  each  other ;  great  trunks  of  trees  lay 
shattered  about,  as  they  had  been  blown  down  by  the  strong 
winds  which  draw  through  these  mountains,  or  had  fallen 
through  age.  The  rocks,  too,  were  overhung  with  wild  vines 
and  briers,  which  completely  matted  themselves  together,  and 
opposed  a  barrier  to  all  ingress;  every  movement  that  he 
made,  shook  down  a  shower  from  the  dripping  foliage.  He 
attempted  to  scale  one  of  these  almost  perpendicular  heights  ; 
but,  though  strong  and  agile,  he  found  it  an  Herculean  under- 
taking. Often  he  was  supported  merely  by  crumbling  pro- 
jections of  the  rock,  and  sometimes  he  clung  to  roots  and 
branches  of  trees,  and  hung  almost  suspended  in  the  air.  The 
wood-pigeon  came  cleaving  his  whistling  flight  by  him,  and 
the  eagle  screamed  from  the  brow  of  the  impending  cliff.  As 
he  was  thus  clambering,  he  was  on  the  point  of  seizing  hold  of 
a  shrub  to  aid  his  ascent,  when  something  rustled  among  the 
leaves,  and  he  saw  a  snake  quivering  along  like  lightning, 
almost  from  under  his  hand.  It  coiled  itself  up  immediately, 
in  an  attitude  of  defiance,  with  flattened  head,  distended  jaws, 
and  quickly-vibrating  tongue,  that  played  like  a  little  flame 
about  its  mouth.  Dolph's  heart  turned  faint  within  him,  and 
he  had  well-nigh  let  go  his  hold,  and  tumbled  down  the  preci- 


282  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

pice.  The  serpent  stood  on  the  defensive  but  for  an  instant ;  it 
was  an  instinctive  movement  of  defence;  and  finding  there 
was  no  attack,  it  glided  away  into  a  cleft  of  the  rock.  Dolph's 
eye  followed  with  fearful  intensity;  and  he  saw  at  a  glance 
that  he  was  in  the  vicinity  of  a  nest  of  adders,  that  lay  knot- 
ted, and  writhing,  and  hissing  in  the  chasm.  He  hastened 
with  all  speed  to  escape  from  so  frightful  a  neighbourhood. 
His  imagination  was  full  of  this  new  horror ;  he  saw  an  adder 
in  every  curling  vine,  and  heard  the  tail  of  a  rattlesnake  in 
every  dry  leaf  that  rustled. 

At  length  he  succeeded  in  scrambling  to  the  summit  of  a 
precipice ;  but  it  was  covered  by  a  dense  forest.  Wherever  he 
could  gain  a  look-out  between  the  trees,  he  saw  that  the  coast 
rose  in  heights  and  cliffs,  one  rising  beyond  another,  until 
huge  mountains  overtopped  the  whole.  There  were  no  signs 
of  cultivation,  nor  any  smoke  curling  amongst  the  trees,  to 
indicate  a  human  residence.  Every  thing  was  wild  and  solitary. 
As  he  was  standing  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice  that  overlooked 
a  deep  ravine  fringed  with  trees,  his  feet  detached  a  great  frag- 
ment of  rock;  it  fell,  crashing  its  way  through  the  tree  tops, 
down  into  the  chasm.  A  loud  whoop,  or  rather  yell,  issued 
from  the  bottom  of  the  glen ;  the  moment  after,  there  was  the 
report  of  a  gun;  and  a  ball  came  whistling  over  his  head, 
cutting  the  twigs  and  leaves,  and  burying  itself  deep  in  the 
bark  of  a  chestnut-tree. 

Dolph  did  not  wait  for  a  second  shot,  but  made  a  precipitate 
retreat ;  fearing  every  moment  to  hear  the  enemy  in  pursuit. 
He  succeeded,  however,  in  returning  unmolested  to  the  shore, 
and  determined  to  penetrate  no  farther  into  a  country  so  beset 
with  savage  perils. 

He  sat  himself  down,  dripping,  disconsolately,  on  a  wet  stone. 
What  was  to  be  done?  Where  was  he  to  shelter  himself?  The 
hour  of  repose  was  approaching ;  the  birds  were  seeking  their 
nests,  the  bat  be.-in  to  flit  about  in  the  twilight,  and  the  night- 
hawk  soaring  high  in  heaven,  seemed  to  be  calling  out  the  stars. 
Night  gradually  closed  in,  and  wrapped  every  thing  in  gloom  -, 
and  though  it  was  the  latter  part  of  summer,  yet  the  breeze, 
stealing  along  the  river,  and  among  these  dripping  forests,  was 
chilly  and  penetrating,  especially  to  a  half -drowned  man. 

As  he  sat  drooping  and  despondent  in  this  comfortless  con- 
dition, he  perceived  a  light  gleaming  through  the  trees  near 
the  shore,  where  the  winding  of  the  river  made  a  deep  bay.  It 
cheered  him  with  the  hopes  that  here  might  be  some  human 


DOLPH  HEYLIGER  283 

habitation,  where  he  might  get  something  to  appease  the  clam- 
orous cravings  of  his  stomach,  and,  what  was  equally  neces- 
sary in  his  shipwrecked  condition,  a  comfortable  shelter 
for  the  night.  It  was  with  extreme  difficulty  that  he  made 
his  way  towards  the  light,  along  ledges  of  rocks  down 
which  he  was  in  danger  of  sliding  into  the  river,  and  over 
great  trunks  of  fallen  trees;  some  of  which  had  been  blown 
down  in  the  late  storm,  and  lay  so  thickly  together,  that 
he  had  to  struggle  through  their  branches.  At  length  he  came 
to  the  brow  of  a  rock  that  overhung  a  small  dell,  from  whence 
the  ligLt  proceeded.  It  was  from  a  fire  at  the  foot  of  a  great 
tree,  that  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  grassy  interval,  or  plat, 
among  the  rocks.  The  fire  cast  up  a  red  glare  among  the  gray 
crags  and  impending  trees ;  leaving  chasms  of  deep  gloom,  that 
resembled  entrances  to  caverns.  A  small  brook  rippled  close 
by,  betrayed  by  the  quivering  reflection  of  the  flame.  There 
were  two  figures  moving  about  the  fire,  and  others  squatted 
before  it.  As  they  were  between  him  and  the  light,  they  were 
in  complete  shadow ;  but  one  of  them  happening  to  move  round 
to  the  opposite  side,  Dolph  was  startled  at  perceiving,  by  the 
full  glare  falling  on  painted  features,  and  glittering  on  silver 
ornaments,  that  he  was  an  Indian.  He  now  looked  more  nar- 
rowly, and  saw  guns  leaning  against  a  tree,  and  a  dead  body 
lying  on  the  ground. 

Dolph  began  to  doubt  whether  he  was  not  in  a  worse  condi- 
tion than  before ;  here  was  the  very  foe  that  had  fired  at  him 
from  the  glen.  He  endeavoured  to  retreat  quietly,  not  caring  to 
entrust  himself  to  these  half-  human  beings  in  so  savage  and 
lonely  a  place.  It  was  too  late :  the  Indian,  with  that  eagle 
quickness  of  eye  so  remarkable  in  his  race,  perceived  something 
stirring  among  the  bushes  on  the  rock :  he  seized  one  of  the 
guns  that  leaned  against  the  tree ;  one  moment  more,  and  Dolph. 
might  have  had  his  passion  for  adventure  cured  by  a  bullet.  I 
He  hallooed  loudly,  with  the  Indian  salutation  of  friendship : 
the  whole  party  sprang  upon  their  feet;  the  salutation  was 
returned,  and  the  straggler  was  invited  to  join  them  at  the 
fire. 

On  approaching,  he  found,  to  his  consolation,  that  the  party 
was  composed  of  white  men  as  well  as  Indians.  One,  who  was 
evidently  the  principal  personage,  or  commander,  was  seated 
on  the  trunk  of  a  tree  before  the  fire.  He  was  a  large,  stout 
man,  somewhat  advanced  in  life,  but  hale  and  hearty.  His 
face  was  bronzed  almost  to  the  colour  of  an  Indian's ;  he  had 


284  BRACEBRIDQE  HALL. 

strong  but  rather  jovial  features,  an  aquiline  nose,  and  a  mouth 
shaped  like  a  mastiff's.  His  face  was  half  thrown  in  shade 
by  a  broad  hat,  with  a  buck's-tail  in  it.  Hig  gray  hair  hung 
short  in  his  neck.  He  wore  a  hunting-frock,  with  Indian  leg- 
gings, and  moccasons,  and  a  tomahawk  in  the  broad  wampum 
belt  round  his  waist.  As  Dolph  caught  a  distinct  view  of  his 
person  and  features,  he  was  struck  with  something  that  re- 
minded him  of  the  old  man  of  the  haunted  house.  The  ni.iu 
before  him,  however,  was  different  in  his  dress  and  age;  he 
was  more  cheery,  too,  in  his  aspect,  and  it  was  hard  to  define 
where  the  vague  resemblance  lay— but  a  resemblance  there  cer- 
tainly was.  Dolph  felt  some  degree  of  awe  in  approaching  him ; 
but  was  assured  by  the  frank,  hearty  welcome  with  which  he 
was  received.  As  he  cast  his  eyes  about,  too,  he  was  still  further 
encouraged,  by  perceiving  that  the  dead  body,  which  had 
caused  him  some  alarm,  was  that  of  a  deer;  and  his  satisfac- 
tion was  complete,  hi  discerning,  by  the  savoury  steams 
which  issued  from  a  kettle  suspended  by  a  hooked  stick  over 
the  fire,  that  there  was  a  part  cooking  for  the  evening's  repast. 

He  now  found  that  he  had  fallen  in  with  a  rambling  hunting 
party,  such  as  often  took  place  in  those  days  among  the  set- 
tlers along  the  river.  The  hunter  is  always  hospitable;  and 
nothing  makes  men  more  social  and  unceremonious,  than  meet- 
ing in  the  wilderness.  The  commander  of  the  party  poured 
him  out  a  dram  of  cheering  liquor,  which  he  gave  him  with  a 
merry  leer,  to  warm  his  heart ;  and  ordered  one  of  his  follow- 
ers to  fetch  some  garments  from  a  pinnace,  which  was  moored 
in  a  cove  close  by,  while  those  in  which  our  hero  was  dripping 
might  be  dried  before  the  fire. 

Dolph  found,  as  he  had  suspected,  that  the  shot  from  the 
glen,  which  had  come  so  near  giving  him  his  quietus  when  on 
the  precipice,  was  from  the  party  before  him.  He  had  nearly 
crushed  one  of  them  by  the  fragment  of  rock  which  he  had 
detached ;  and  the  jovial  old  hunter,  in  the  broad  hat  and  buck- 
tail,  had  fired  at  the  place  where  he  saw  the  bushes  move,  sup- 
posing it  to  be  some  wild  animal.  He  laughed  heartily  at  the 
blunder;  it  being  what  is  considered  an  exceeding  good  joke 
among  hunters;  "but  faith,  my  lad, "said  he,  "if  I  had  but 
caught  a  glimpse  of  you  to  take  sight  at,  you  would  have  fol- 
lowed the  rock.  Antony  Vander  Heyden  is  seldom  known  to 
miss  his  aim."  These  last  words  were  at  once  a  clue  to  Dolph's 
curiosity ;  and  a  few  questions  let  him  completely  into  the 
character  of  the  man  before  him,  aud  of  his  band  of  woodland 


DOLPH  HEYLIGER.  285 

rangers.  The  commander  in  the  broad  hat  and  hunting-frock 
was  no  less  a  personage  than  the  Heer  Antony  Vander  Heyden, 
of  Albany,  of  whom  Dolph  had  many  a  time  heard.  He  was, 
in  fact,  the  hero  of  many  a  story;  being  a  man  of  singular 
humours  and  whimsical  habits,  that  were  matters  of  wonder 
to  his  quiet  Dutch  neighbours.  As  he  was  a  man  of  property, 
having  had  a  father  before  him,  from  whom  he  inherited  large 
tracts  of  wild  land,  and  whole  barrels  full  of  wampum,  he  could 
indulge  his  humours  without  control.  Instead  of  staying  quietly 
at  home,  eating  and  drinking  at  regular  meal  times ;  amusing 
himself  by  smoking  his  pipe  on  the  bench  before  the  door,  and 
then  turning  into  a  comfortable  bed  at  night ;  he  delighted  in 
all  kinds  of  rough,  wild  expeditions.  He  was  never  so  happy 
as  when  on  a  hunting  party  in  the  wilderness,  sleeping  under 
trees  or  bark  sheds,  or  cruising  down  the  river,  or  on  some  wood- 
land lake,  fishing  and  fowling,  and  living  the  Lord  knows  how. 

He  was  a  great  friend  to  Indians,  and  to  an  Indian  mode  of 
life ;  which  he  considered  true  natural  liberty  and  manly  enjoy- 
ment. When  at  home,  he  had  always  several  Indian  hangers- 
on,  who  loitered  about  his  house,  sleeping  like  hounds  in  the 
sunshine,  or  preparing  hunting  and  fishing-tackle  for  some  new 
expedition,  or  shooting  at  marks  with  bows  and  arrows. 

Over  these  vagrant  beings,  Heer  Antony  had  as  perfect  com- 
mand as  a  huntsman  over  his  pack ;  though  they  were  great 
nuisances  to  the  regular  people  of  his  neighbourhood.  As  he 
was  a  rich  man,  no  one  ventured  to  thwart  his  humours ;  in- 
deed, he  had  a  hearty,  joyous  manner  about  him,  that  made 
him  universally  popular.  He  would  troll  a  Dutch  song,  as  he 
tramped  along  the  street ;  hail  every  one  a  mile  off ;  and  when 
he  entered  a  house,  he  would  slap  the  good  man  familiarly  on 
the  back,  shake  him  by  the  hand  till  he  roared,  and  kiss  his 
wife  and  daughters  before  his  face — in  short,  there  was  no  pride 
nor  ill-humour  about  Heer  Antony. 

Besides  his  Indian  hangers-on,  he  had  three  or  four  humble 
friends  among  the  white  men,  who  looked  up  to  him  as  a  patron, 
and  had  the  run  of  his  kitchen,  and  the  favour  of  being  taken 
with  him  occasionally  on  his  expeditions.  It  was  with  a  med- 
ley of  such  retainers  that  he  was  at  present  on  a  cruise  along 
the  shores  of  the  Hudson,  in  a  pinnace  which  he  kept  for  his 
own  recreation.  There  were  two  white  men  with  him,  dressed 
partly  in  the  Indian  style,  with  moccasons  and  hunting-shirts; 
the  rest  of  his  crew  consisted  of  four  favourite  Indians.  They 
had  been  prowling  about  the  river,  without  any  definite  object, 


286  SRACEBHIDGE  HALL. 

until  they  found  themselves  in  the  highlands ;  where  they  had 
passed  two  or  three  days,  hunting  the  deer  which  still  lingered 
among  these  mountains. 

"It  is  a  lucky  circumstance,  young  man,"  said  Antony 
Vander Heyden,  "that  you  happened  to  be  knocked  overboard 
to-day,  as  to-morrow  morning  we  start  early  on  our  return 
nome  wards,  and  you  might  then  have  looked  in  vain  fora  meal 
among  the  mountains — but  come,  lads,  stir  about!  stirabout! 
Let's  see  what  prog  we  have  for  supper ;  the  kettle  has  boiled 
long  enough ;  my  stomach  cries  cupboard ;  and  I'll  warrant  our 
guest  is  hi  no  mood  to  dally  with  his  trencher." 

There  was  a  bustle  now  in  the  little  encampment.  One  took 
off  the  kettle,  and  turned  a  part  of  the  contents  into  a  huge 
wooden  bowl ;  another  prepared  a  flat  rock  for  a  table ;  while  a 
third  brought  various  utensils  from  the  pinnace,  which  was 
moored  close  by ;  and  Heer  Antony  himself  brought  a  flask  or 
two  of  precious  liquor  from  his  own  private  locker — knowing 
his  boon  companions  too  well  to  trust  any  of  them  with  the  key. 

A  rude  but  hearty  repast  was  soon  spread;  consisting  of 
venison  smoking  from  the  kettle,  with  cold  bacon,  boiled  Indian 
corn,  and  mighty  loaves  of  good  brown  household  bread.  Never 
had  Dolph  made  a  more  delicious  repast ;  and  when  he  had 
washed  it  down  with  two  or  three  draughts  from  the  Heer 
Antony's  flask,  and  felt  the  jolly  liquor  sending  its  warmth 
through  bis  veins,  and  glowing  round  his  very  heart,  he  would 
not  have  changed  his  situation,  no,  not  with  the  governor  of 
the  province. 

The  Heer  Antony,  too,  grew  chirping  and  joyous ;  told  half- 
a-dozen  fat  stories,  at  which  his  white  followers  laughed 
immoderately,  though  the  Indians,  as  usual,  maintained  an 
invincible  gravity. 

"  This  is  your  true  life,  my  boy!"  said  he,  slapping  Dolph  on 
the  shoulder;  "a  man  is  never  a  man  till  he  can  defy  wind  and 
weather,  range  woods  and  wilds,  sleep  under  a  tree,  and  live 
on  bass-wood  leaves  1" 

And  then  would  he  sing  a  stave  or  two  of  a  Dutch  drinking 
song,  swaying  a  short  squab  Dutch  bottle  in  his  hand,  while 
bis  myrmidons  would  join  in  chorus,  until  the  woods  echoed 
again;— as  the  good  old  song  has  it: 

"They  all  with  a  shout  made  the  elements  ring, 

So  soon  as  the  office  was  o'er; 
To  feasting  they  went  with  true  merriment, 
And  tippled  strong  liquor  gillore." 


DOLPH  EETLIOER.  287 

In  tne  midst  of  his  jovialty,  however,  Heer  Antony  did  not 
lose  sight  of  discretion.  Though  he  pushed  the  bottle  without 
reserve  to  Dolph,  yet  he  always  took  care  to  help  his  followers 
himself,  knowing  the  beings  he  had  to  deal  with ;  and  he  was 
particular  in  granting  but  a  moderate  allowance  to  the  Indians. 
The  repast  being  ended,  the  Indians  having  drunk  then-  liquor 
and  smoked  their  pipes,  now  wrapped  themselves  in  their 
blankets,  stretched  themselves  on  the  ground  with  their  feet  to 
the  fire,  and  soon  fell  asleep,  like  so  many  tired  hounds.  The 
rest  of  the  party  remained  chatting  before  the  fire,  which  the 
gloom  of  the  forest,  and  the  dampness  of  the  air  from  the  late 
storm,  rendered  extremely  grateful  and  comforting.  The  con- 
versation gradually  moderated  from  the  hilarity  of  supper-time, 
and  turned  upon  hunting  adventures,  and  exploits  and  perils 
in  the  wilderness ;  many  of  which  were  so  strange  and  improb- 
able, that  I  will  not  venture  to  repeat  them,  lest  the  veracity 
of  Antony  Vander  Heyden  and  his  comrades  should  be  brought 
into  question.  There  were  many  legendary  tales  told,  also, 
about  tlie  river,  and  the  settlements  on  its  borders ;  in  which 
valuable  kind  of  lore,  the  Heer  Antony  seemed  deeply  versed. 
As  the  sturdy  bush- beater  sat  in  the  twisted  root  of  a  tree,  that 
served  him  for  a  kind  of  arm-chair,  dealing  forth  these  wild 
stories,  with  the  fire  gleaming  on  his  strongly-marked  visage, 
Dolph  was  again  repeatedly  perplexed  by  something  that  re- 
minded him  of  the  phantom  of  the  haunted  house ;  some  vague 
resemblance,  that  could  not  be  fixed  upon  any  precise  feature 
or  lineament,  but  which  pervaded  the  general  air  of  his  coun- 
tenance and  figure. 

The  circumstance  of  Dolph's  falling  overboard  being  again 
discussed,  led  to  the  relation  of  divers  disasters  and  singular 
mishaps  that  had  befallen  voyagers  on  this  great  river,  particu- 
larly in  the  earlier  periods  of  colonial  history ;  most  of  which 
the  Heer  deliberately  attributed  to  supernatural  causes.  Dolph 
stared  at  this  suggestion ;  but  the  old  gentleman  assured  him 
that  it  was  very  currently  believed  by  the  settlers  along  the 
river,  that  these  highlands  were  under  the  dominion  of  super- 
natural and  mischievous  beings,  which  seemed  to  have  taken 
some  pique  against  the  Dutch  colonists  in  the  early  time  of  the 
settlement.  In  consequence  of  this,  they  have  ever  since  taken 
particular  delight  in  venting  their  spleen,  and  indulging  their 
humours,  upon  the  Dutch  skippers ;  bothering  them  with  flaws, 
head  winds,  counter  currents,  and  all  kinds  of  impediments ; 
insomuch,  that  a  Dutch  navigator  was  always  obliged  to  be 


288  miACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

exceedingly  wary  and  deliberate  in  his  proceedings ;  to  come  to 
anchor  at  dusk ;  to  drop  his  peak,  or  take  in  sail,  whenever  he 
saw  a  swag-bellied  cloud  rolling  over  the  mountains ;  in  short, 
to  take  so  many  precautions,  that  he  was  often  apt  to  be  an 
incredible  time  in  toiling  up  the  river. 

Some,  he  said,  believed  these  mischievous  powers  of  the  air 
to  be  evil  spirits  conjured  up  by  the  Indian  wizards,  in  the  early 
times  of  the  province,  to  revenge  themselves  on  the  strangers 
who  had  dispossessed  them  of  their  country.  They  even 
attributed  to  their  incantations  the  misadventure  which  befell 
the  renowned  Hendrick  Hudson,  when  he  sailed  so  gallantly  up 
this  river  in  quest  of  a  north-west  passage,  and,  as  he  thought, 
run  his  ship  aground ;  which  they  affirm  was  nothing  more  nor 
less  than  a  spell  of  these  same  wizards,  to  prevent  his  getting 
to  China  in  this  direction. 

The  greater  part,  however,  Heer  Antony  observed,  accounted 
for  all  the  extraordinary  circumstances  attending  this  river, 
and  the  perplexities  of  the  skippers  which  navigated  it,  by  the 
old  legend  of  the  Storm-ship,  which  haunted  Point-no-point. 
On  finding  Dolph  to  be  utterly  ignorant  of  this  tradition,  the 
Heer  stared  at  him  for  a  moment  with  surprise,  and  wondered 
where  he  had  passed  his  lif e,  to  be  uninformed  on  so  important 
a  point  of  history.  To  pass  away  the  remainder  of  the  even- 
ing, therefore,  he  undertook  the  tale,  as  far  as  his  memory 
would  serve,  in  the  very  words  in  which  it  had  been  written 
out  by  Mynheer  Selyne,  an  early  poet  of  the  New-Nederlandts. 
Giving,  then,  a  stir  to  the  fire,  that  sent  up  its  sparks  among 
the  trees  like  a  little  volcano,  he  adjusted  himself  comfortably 
in  his  root  of  a  tree ;  and  throwing  back  his  head,  and  closing 
his  eyes  for  a  few  moments,  to  summon  up  his  recollection,  he 
related  the  following  legend. 


THE  STORM-SHIP. 

IN  the  golden  age  of  the  province  of  the  New-Netherlands, 
when  it  was  under  the  sway  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller,  otherwise 
called  the  Doubter,  the  people  of  the  Manhattoes  were  alarmed, 
one  sultry  afternoon,  just  about  the  time  of  the  summer  solstice, 
by  a  tremendous  storm  of  thunder  and  lightning.  The  rain 
descended  in  such  torrents,  as  absolutely  to  spatter  up  and 


THE  STORM  SHIP  289 

smoke  along  the  ground.  It  seemed  as  if  the  thunder  rattled 
and  rolled  over  the  very  roofs  of  the  houses ;  the  lightning  was 
seen  to  play  about  the  church  of  St.  Nicholas,  and  to  strive  three 
times,  in  vain,  to  strike  its  weather-cock.  Garret  Van  Home's 
new  chimney  was  split  almost  from  top  to  bottom ;  and  Doffue 
Mildeberger  was  struck  speechless  from  his  bald-faced  mare, 
just  as  he  was  riding  into  town.  In  a  word,  it  was  one  of  those 
unparalleled  storms,  that  only  happen  once  within  the  memory 
of  that  venerable  personage,  known  in  all  towns  by  the  appella- 
tion of  "the  oldest  inhabitant." 

Great  was  the  terror  of  the  good  old  women  of  the  Manhat- 
toes.  They  gathered  their  children  together,  and  took  refuge 
in  the  cellars ;  after  having  hung  a  shoe  on  the  iron  point  of 
every  bed-post,  lest  it  should  attract  the  lightning.  At  length 
the  storm  abated ;  the  thunder  sunk  into  a  growl ;  and  the  set- 
ting sun,  breaking  from  under  the  fringed  borders  of  the  clouds, 
made  the  broad  bosom  of  the  bay  to  gleam  like  a  sea  of  molten 
gold. 

The  word  was  given  from  the  fort,  that  a  ship  was  standing 
up  the  bay.  It  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth,  and  street  to 
street,  and  soon  put  the  little  capital  in  a  bustle.  The  arrival 
of  a  ship,  in  those  early  times  of  the  settlement,  was  an  event 
of  vast  importance  to  the  inhabitants.  It  brought  them  news 
from  the  old  world,  from  the  land  of  their  birth,  from  which 
they  were  so  completely  severed :  to  the  yearly  ship,  too,  they 
looked  for  their  supply  of  luxuries,  of  finery,  of  comforts,  and 
almost  of  necessaries.  The  good  vrouw  could  not  have  her 
new  cap,  nor  new  gown,  until  the  arrival  of  the  ship ;  the  artist 
waited  for  it  for  his  tools,  the  burgomaster  for  his  pipe  and  his 
supply  of  Hollands,  the  school-boy  for  his  top  and  marbles,  and 
the  lordly  landholder  for  the  bricks  with  which  he  was  to  build 
his  new  mansion.  Thus  every  one,  rich  and  poor,  great  and 
small,  looked  out  for  the  arrival  of  the  ship.  It  was  the  great 
yearly  event  of  the  town  of  New- Amsterdam ;  and  from  one 
end  of  the  year  to  the  other,  the  ship — the  ship — the  ship — was 
the  continual  topic  of  conversation. 

The  news  from  the  fort,  therefore,  brought  all  the  populace 
down  to  the  battery,  ,to  behold  the  wished-f or  sight.  It  was 
not  exactly  the  time  when  she  had  been  expected  to  arrive,  and 
the  circumstance  was  a  matter  of  some  speculation.  Many 
were  the  groups  collected  about  the  battery.  Here  and  there 
might  be  seen  a  burgomaster,  of  slow  and  pompous  gravity, 
giving  his  opinion  with  great  confidence  to  a  crowd  of  old 


290  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL 

women  and  idle  boys.  At  another  place  was  a  knot  of  old 
weatherbeaten  fellows,  who  had  been  seamen  or  fishermen  in 
their  times,  and  were  great  authorities  on  such  occasions ;  these 
gave  different  opinions,  and  caused  great  disputes  among  then* 
several  adherents :  but  the  man  most  looked  up  to,  and  followed 
and  watched  by  the  crowd,  was  Hans  Van  Pelt,  an  old  Dutch 
:  sea-captain  retired  from  service,  the  nautical  oracle  of  the 
t?lace.  He  reconnoitred  the  ship  through  an  ancient  telescope, 
covered  with  tarry  canvas,  hummed  a  Dutch  tune  to  himself, 
and  said  nothing.  A  hum,  however,  trom  Hans  Van  Pelt  had 
always  more  weight  with  the  public  than  a  speech  from  an- 
other man. 

In  the  meantime,  the  ship  became  more  distinct  to  the  naked 
eye :  she  was  a  stout,  round  Dutch-built  vessel,  with  high  bow 
and  poop,  and  bearing  Dutch  colours.  The  evening  sun  gilded 
her  bellying  canvas,  as  she  came  riding  over  the  long  waving 
billows.  The  sentinel  who  had  given  notice  of  her  approach, 
declared,  that  he  first  got  sight  of  her  when  she  was  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  bay ;  and  that  she  broke  suddenly  on  his  sight,  just 
as  if  she  had  come  out  of  the  bosom  or  the  black  thunder-cloud. 
The  bystanders  looked  at  Hans  Van  Pelt,  to  see  what  he  would 
say  to  this  report :  Hans  Van  Pelt  screwed  his  mouth  closer  to- 
gether, and  said  nothing;  upon  which  some  shook  their  heads, 
and  others  shrugged  their  shoulders. 

The  ship  was  now  repeatedly  hailed,  but  made  no  reply,  and, 
passing  by  the  fort,  stood  on  up  the  Hudson.  A  gun  was 
brought  to  bear  on  her,  ond,  with  some  difficulty,  loaded  and 
fired  by  Hans  Van  Pelt,  the  garrison  not  being  expert  in  artil- 
lery. The  shot  seemed  absolutely  to  pass  through  the  ship,  and 
to  skip  along  the  water  on  the  other  side,  but  no  notice  was  taken 
of  it !  What  was  strange,  she  had  all  her  sails  set,  and  sailed 
right  against  wind  and  tide,  which  were  both  down  the  river. 
Upon  this  Hans  Van  Pelt,  who  was  likewise  harbour-master, 
ordered  his  boat,  and  set  off  to  board  her;  but  after  rowing 
two  or  three  hours,  he  returned  without  success.  Sometimes 
he  would  get  within  one  or  two  hundred  yards  of  her,  and 
then,  in  a  twinkling,  she  would  be  hah*  a  mile  off.  Some  said 
it  was  because  his  oarsmen,  who  were  rather  pursy  and  short- 
winded,  stopped  every  now  and  then  to  take  breath,  and  spit 
on  their  hands;  but  this,  it  is  probable,  was  a  mere  scandal. 
He  got  near  enough,  however,  to  see  the  crew ;  who  were  all 
dressed  in  the  Dutch  style,  the  officers  in  doublets  and  high 
hats  and  feathers :  not  a  word  was  spoken  by  any  one  on  board j 


TB&  8TORM-SBIP. 

they  stood  as  motionless  as  so  many  statues,  and  the  ship 
seemed  as  if  left  to  her  own  government.  Thus  she  kept  on, 
away  up  the  river,  lessening  and  lessening  in  the  evening  sun- 
shine, until  she  faded  from  sight,  like  a  little  white  cloud  melt- 
nig  away  in  the  summer  sky. 

The  appearance  of  this  ship  threw  the  governor  into  one  of 
the  deepest  doubts  that  ever  beset  him  in  the  whole  course  of 
his  administration.  Fears  were  entertained  for  the  security 
of  the  infant  settlements  on  the  river,  lest  this  might  be  an 
enemy's  ship  in  disguise,  sent  to  take  possession.  The  gover- 
nor called  together  his  council  repeatedly  to  assist  him  with 
their  conjectures.  He  sat  in  his  chair  of  state,  built  of  timber 
from  the  sacred  forest  of  the  Hague,  and  smoking  his  long  jas- 
mine pipe,  and  listened  to  all  that  his  counsellors  had  to  say  on 
a  subject  about  which  they  knew  nothing;  but,  in  spite  of  all 
the  conjecturing  of  the  sagest  and  oldest  heads,  the  governor 
still  continued  to  doubt. 

Messengers  were  despatched  to  different  places  on  the  river ; 
but  they  returned  without  any  tidings— the  ship  had  made  no 
port.  Day  after  day,  and  week  after  week,  elapsed;  but  she 
never  returned  down  the  Hudson.  As,  however,  the-  council 
seemed  solicitous  for  intelligence,  they  had  it  in  abundance. 
The  captains  of  the  sloops  seldom  arrived  without  bringing 
eome  report  of  having  seen  the  strange  ship  at  different  parts 
of  the  river;  sometimes  near  the  Pah'sadoes;  sometimes  off 
Croton  Point,  and  sometimes  in  the  highlands ;  but  she  never 
was  reported  as  having  been  seen  above  the  highlands.  The 
crews  of  the  sloops,  it  is  true,  generally  differed  among  them- 
selves in  their  accounts  of  these  apparitions;  but  they  may 
have  arisen  from  the  uncertain  situations  in  which  they  saw 
her.  Sometimes  it  was  by  the  flashes  of  the  thunder-storm 
lighting  up  a  pitchy  night,  and  giving  glimpses  of  her  careering 
across  Tappaan  Zee,  or  the  wide  waste  of  Haverstraw  Bay.  At 
one  moment  she  would  appear  close  upon  them,  as  if  likely  to 
run  them  down,  and  would  throw  them  into  great  bustle  and 
alarm ;  but  the  next  flash  would  show  her  far  off,  always  sail- 
ing  against  the  wind.  Sometimes,  in  quiet  moonlight  nights, 
she  would  be  seen  under  some  high  bluff  of  the  highlands,  all 
in  deep  shadow,  excepting  her  top-sails  glittering  hi  the  moon- 
beams ;  by  the  time,  however,  that  the  voyagers  would  reach 
the  place,  there  would  be  no  ship  to  be  seen ;  and  when  they 
had  passed  on  for  some  distance,  and  looked  back,  behold! 
there  she  was  again  with  her  top-sails  in  the  moonshine  1  Her 


292  BRACEBR1DGE  HALL. 

appearance  -was  always  just  after,  or  just  before,  or  just  in  thi 
midst  of,  unruly  weather ;  and  she  was  known  by  all  the  skip- 
pers and  voyagers  of  the  Hudson,  by  the  name  of  "  the  storm- 
ship." 

These  reports  perplexed  the  governor  and  his  council  more 
than  ever ;  and  it  would  be  endless  to  repeat  the  conjectures 
land  opinions  that  were  uttered  on  the  subject.  Some  quoted 
'cases  in  point,  of  ships  seen  off  the  coast  of  New-England, 
navigated  by  witches  and  goblins.  Old  Hans  Van  Pelt,  who 
had  been  more  than  once  to  the  Dutch  colony  at  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope,  insisted  that  this  must  be  the  Flying  Dutchman 
which  had  so  long  haunted  Table  Bay,  but.  being  unable  to 
make  port,  had  now  sought  another  harbour.  Others  sug- 
gested, that,  if  it  really  was  a  supernatural  apparition,  as  there 
was  every  natural  reason  to  believe,  it  might  be  Hendrick 
Hudson,  and  his  crew  of  the  Half -Moon;  who,  it  was  well- 
known,  had  once  run  aground  in  the  upper  part  of  the  river,  in 
seeking  a  north-west  passage  to  China.  This  opinion  had  very 
little  weight  with  the  governor,  but  it  passed  current  out  of 
doors;  for  indeed  it  had  already  been  reported,  that  Hendrick 
Hudson  and  his  crew  haunted  the  Kaatskill  Mountain ;  and  it 
appeared  very  reasonable  to  suppose,  that  his  ship  might  infest 
the  river,  where  the  enterprise  was  baffled,  or  that  it  might 
bear  the  shadowy  crew  to  their  periodical  revels  in  the  moun- 
tain. 

Other  events  occurred  to  occupy  the  thoughts  and  doubts  of 
the  sage  Wouter  and  his  council,  and  the  storm-ship  ceased  to 
be  a  subject  of  deliberation  at  the  board.  It  continued,  how- 
ever, to  be  a  matter  of  popular  belief  and  marvellous  anecdote 
through  the  whole  time  of  the  Dutch  government,  and  particu- 
larly just  before  the  capture  of  New- Amsterdam,  and  the  sub- 
j  jugation  of  the  province  by  the  English  squadron.  About  that 
time  the  storm-ship  was  repeatedly  seen  in  the  Tappaan  Zee, 
and  about  Weehawk,  and  even  down  as  far  as  Hoboken ;  and 
her  appearance  was  supposed  to  be  ominous  of  the  approaching 
squall  in  public  affairs,  and  the  downfall  of  Dutch  domination. 

Since  that  time,  we  have  no  authentic  accounts  of  her; 
though  it  is  said  she  still  haunts  the  highlands  and  cruises 
about  Point-no-point.  People  who  live  along  the  river,  insist 
that  they  sometimes  see  her  in  summer  moonlight ;  and  that  in 
a  deep  still  midnight,  they  have  heard  the  chant  of  her  crew, 
as  if  heaving  the  lead ;  but  sights  and  sounds  are  so  deceptive 
along  the  mountainous  shoreB,  and  about  the  wide  bays  and 


TEE  STORM-SHIP.  293 

long  reaches  of  this  great  river,  that  I  confess  I  have  very 
strong  doubts  upon  the  subject. 

It  is  certain,  nevertheless,  that  strange  things  have  been  seen 
in  these  highlands  in  storms,  which  are  considered  as  connected 
with  the  old  story  of  the  ship.  The  captains  of  the  river  craft 
talk  of  a  little  bulbous-bottomed  Dutch  goblin,  in  trunk  hose 
and  sugar-loafed  hat,  with  a  speaking  trumpet  in  his  hand, 
which  they  say  keeps  about  the  Dunderberg.*  They  declare 
they  have  heard  him,  in  stormy  weather,  in  the  midst  of  the 
turmoil,  giving  orders  in  Low  Dutch  for  the  piping  up  of  a 
fresh  gust  of  wind,  or  the  rattling  off  of  another  thunder-clap. 
That  sometimes  he  has  been  seen  surrounded  by  a  crew  of  little 
imps  in  broad  breeches  and  short  doublets ;  tumbling  head-over- 
heels  in  the  rack  and  mist,  and  playing  a  thousand  gambols  in 
the  air ;  or  buzzing  like  a  swarm  of  flies  about  Antony's  Nose ; 
and  that,  at  such  times,  the  hurry-scurry  of  the  storm  was 
always  greatest.  One  time,  a  sloop,  in  passing  by  the  Dunder- 
berg, was  overtaken  by  a  thunder-gust,  that  came  scouring 
round  the  mountain,  and  seemed  to  burst  just  over  the  vessel. 
Though  tight  and  well  ballasted,  yet  she  laboured  dreadfully, 
until  the  water  came  over  the  gunwale.  All  the  crew  were 
amazed,  when  it  was  discovered  that  there  was  a  little  white 
sugar-loaf  hat  on  the  mast-head,  which  was  known  at  once  to 
be  that  of  the  Heer  of  the  Dunderberg.  Nobody,  however, 
dared  to  climb  to  the  mast-head,  and  get  rid  of  this  terrible 
hat.  The  sloop  continued  labouring  and  rocking,  as  if  she 
would  have  rolled  her  mast  overboard.  She  seemed  in  con- 
tinual danger  either  of  upsetting  or  of  running  on  shore.  In 
this  way  she  drove  quite  through  the  highlands,  until  she  had 
passed  Pollopol's  Island,  where,  it  is  said,  the  jurisdiction  of 
the  Dunderberg  potentate  ceases.  No  sooner  had  she  passed 
this  bourne,  than  the  little  hat,  all  at  once,  spun  up  into  the  air 
like  a  top,  whirled  up  all  the  clouds  into  a  vortex,  and  hurried 
them  back  to  the  summit  of  the  Dunderberg,  while  the  sloop 
righted  herself,  and  sailed  on  as  quietly  as  if  in  a  mill-pond. 
Nothing  saved  her  from  utter  wreck,  but  the  fortunate  circum- 
stance of  having  a  horse-shoe  nailed  against  the  mast — a  wise 
precaution  against  evil  spirits,  which  has  since  been  adopted  by 
all  the  Dutch  captains  that  navigate  this  haunted  river. 

There  is  another  story  told  of  this  foul-weather  urchin,  by 


*  i.e.,  the  "  Thunder-Mountain,"  so  called  from  its  echoes. 


294  BRACEBR1DGE  HALL. 

Skipper  Daniel  Ouslestiek^r,  of  Fish-Hill,  who  was  never  known 
to  tell  a  lie.  He  declared,  that,  in  a  severe  squall,  he  saw  him 
seated  astride  of  his  bowsprit,  riding  the  sloop  ashore,  full  butt 
against  Antony's  Nose ;  and  that  he  was  exorcised  by  Dominie 
Van  Gieson,  of  Esopus,  who  happened  to  be  on  board,  and  who 
siing  the  hymn  of  St.  Nicholas ;  whereupon  the  goblin  threw 
himself  up  in  the  air  like  a  ball,  and  went  off  in  a  whirlwind, 
carrying  away  with  him  the  nightcap  of  the  Dominie's  wife ; 
which  was  discovered  the  next  Sunday  morning  hanging  on  the 
weather-cock  of  Esopus  church  steeple,  at  least  forty  miles  off  1 
After  several  events  of  this  kind  had  taken  place,  the  regular 
skippers  of  the  river,  for  a  long  time,  did  not  venture  to  pass 
the  Dunderberg,  without  lowering  their  peaks,  out  of  homage 
to  the  Heer  of  the  mountain ;  and  it  was  observed  that  all  such 
as  paid  this  tribute  of  respect  were  suffered  to  pass  unmolested.* 


"Such,"  said  Antony  Vander  Heyden,  "are  a  few  of  the 
stories  written  down  by  Selyne  the  poet  concerning  this  storm- 
ship;  which  he  affirms  to  have  brought  this  colony  of  mis- 
chievous imps  into  the  province,  from  some  old  ghost-ridden 
country  of  Europe.  I  could  give  you  a  host  more,  if  necessary ; 
for  all  the  accidents  that  so  often  befall  tin-  river  craft  in  the 
highlands,  are  said  to  be  tricks  played  off  by  these  imps  of  the 
Dunderberg;  but  I  see  that  you  are  nodding,  so  let  us  turn  in 
for  the  night." 

The  moon  had  just  raised  her  silver  horns  above  the  round 
back  of  old  Bull-Hill,  and  lit  up  the  gray  rocks  and  shagged 

•  Among  the  superstitions  which  prevailed  in  the  colonies  during  the  early  times 
of  the  settlements,  there  seems  to  have  been  a  singular  one  about  phantom  ships. 
The  superstitious  fancies  of  men  are  always  apt  to  turn  upon  those  objects  which 
concern  their  daily  occupations.  The  solitary  ship,  which,  from  year  to  year,  came 
like  a  raven  in  the  wilderness,  bringing  to  tin-  inhabitants  of  a  settlement  tin 
forts  of  life  from  the  world  from  which  they  were  cut  off,  was  apt  to  be  present  to 
their  dreams,  whether  sleeping  or  waking.  The  accidental  sight  from  shore,  of  a 
sail  gliding  along  the  horizon,  in  those,  as  yet,  lonely  seas,  was  apt  to  be  a  matter 
of  much  talk  and  speculation.  There  is  mention  made  in  one  of  the  early  New- 
England  writers,  of  a  ship  navigated  by  witches,  with  a  groat  horse  that  stood  by 
the  mainmast.  I  have  met  with  another  story,  somewhere,  of  a  ship  that  drove  on 
shore,  in  fair,  sunny,  tranquil  weather,  with  sails  all  set,  and  a  table  spread  in  the 
cabin,  as  if  to  regale  a  number  of  guests,  yet  not  a  living  being  on  board.  These 
phantom  ships  always  sailed  in  the  eye  of  the  wind;  or  ploughed  their  way  with  great 
velocity,  making  the  smooth  sea  foam  before  their  bows,  when  not  a  breath  of  air 
was  stirring. 

Moore  has  finely  wrought  up  one  of  these  legends  of  the  sea  into  a  little  tal« 
which,  within  a  small  compass,  contains  the  very  essence  of  this  species  of  super 
natural  action.  I  allude  to  bis  Spectre-Ship  bound  to  Dead-man's  Isle. 


THE  STORM-SHIP.  295 

forests,  and  glittered  on  the  waving  bosom  of  the  river.  The 
night-dew  was  falling,  and  the  late  gloomy  mountains  began  to 
soften,  and  put  on  a  gray  aerial  tint  in  the  dewy  light.  The 
hunters  stirred  the  fire,  and  threw  on  fresh  fuel  to  qualify  the 
damp  of  the  night  air.  They  then  prepared  a  bed  of  branches 
and  dry  leaves  under  a  ledge  of  rocks,  for  Dolph ;  while  An- 
tony Vander  Heyden,  wrapping  himself  up  in  a  huge  coat 
made  of  skins,  stretched  himself  before  the  fire.  It  was  some 
time,  however,  before  Dolph  could  close  his  eyes.  He  lay  con- 
templating the  strange  scene  before  him :  the  wild  woods  and 
rocks  around — the  fire,  throwing  fitful  gleams  on  the  faces  of 
the  sleeping  savages — and  the  Heer  Antony,  too,  who  so  singu- 
larly, yet  vaguely  reminded  him  of  the  nightly  visitant  to  the 
haunted  house.  Now  and  then  he  heard  the  cry  of  some 
animal  from  the  forest ;  or  the  hooting  of  the  owl ;  or  the  notes 
of  the  whip-poor-will,  which  seemed  to  abound  among  these 
solitudes ;  or  the  splash  of  a  sturgeon,  leaping  out  of  the  river, 
and  falling  back  full  length  on  its  placid  surface.  He  con- 
trasted all  this  with  his  accustomed  nest  in  the  garret-room  of 
the  doctor's  mansion;  where  the  only  sounds  he  heard  at  night 
were  the  church-clock  telling  the  hour;  the  drowsy  voice  of 
the  watchman,  drawling  out  all  was  well ;  the  deep  snoring  of 
the  doctor's  clubbed  nose  from  below  stairs ;  or  the  cautious 
labours  of  some  carpenter  rat  gnawing  in  the  wainscot.  His 
thoughts  then  wandered  to  his  poor  old  mother:  what  would 
she  think  of  his  mysterious  disappearance? — what  anxiety  and 
distress  would  she  not  suffer?  This  was  the  thought  that 
would  continually  intrude  itself,  to  mar  his  present  enjoyment. 
It  brought  with  it  a  feeling  of  pain  and  compunction,  and  he 
fell  asleep  with  the  tears  yet  standing  in  his  eyes. 

Were  this  a  mere  tale  of  fancy,  here  would  be  a  fine  oppor- 
tunity for  weaving  in  strange  adventures  among  these  wild 
mountains  and  roving  hunters;  and,  after  involving  my  hero 
in  a  variety  of  perils  and  difficulties,  rescuing  him  from  them 
all  by  some  miraculous  contrivance :  but  as  this  is  absolutely  a 
true  story,  I  must  content  myself  with  simple  facts,  and  keep 
to  probabilities. 

At  an  early  hour  the  next  day,  therefore,  after  a  hearty 
morning's  meal,  the  encampment  broke  up,  and  our  adven- 
turers embarked  in  the  pinnace  of  Antony  Vander  Heyden. 
There  being  no  wind  for  the  sails,  the  Indians  rowed  her 
gently  along,  keeping  time  to  a  kind  of  chant  of  one  of  the 
white  men.  The  day  was  serene  and  beautiful ;  the  river  with- 


296  SRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

out  a  wave ;  and  as  the  vessel  cleft  the  glassy  water,  it  left  ft 
long,  undulating  track  behind.  The  crows,  who  had  scented 
the  hunters1  banquet,  were  already  gathering  and  hovering  in 
the  air,  just  where  a  column  of  thin,  blue  smoke,  rising  from 
among  the  trees,  showed  the  place  of  their  last  night's  quarters. 
As  they  coasted  along  the  bases  of  the  mountains,  the  Heer 
Antony  pointed  out  to  Dolph  a  bald  eagle,  the  sovereign  of 
these  regions,  who  sat  perched  on  a  dry  tree  that  projected 
over  the  river;  and,  with  eye  turned  upwards,  seemed  to  be 
drinking  in  the  splendour  of  the  morning  sun.  Their  approach 
disturbed  the  monarch's  meditations.  He  first  spread  one 
wing,  and  then  the  other;  balanced  himself  for  a  moment;  and 
then,  quitting  his  perch  with  dignified  composure,  wheeled 
slowly  over  their  heads.  Dolph  snatched  up  a  gun,  and  sent 
a  whistling  ball  after  him,  that  cut  some  of  the  feathers  from 
his  wing;  the  report  of  the  gun  leaped  sharply  from  rock  to 
rock,  and  awakened  a  thousand  echoes ;  but  the  monarch  of 
the  air  sailed  calmly  on,  ascending  higher  and  higher,  and 
wheeling  widely  as  he  ascended,  soaring  up  the  green  bosom  of 
the  woody  mountain,  until  he  disappeared  over  the  brow  of  a 
beetling  precipice.  Dolph  felt  in  a  manner  rebuked  by  this 
proud  tranquillity,  and  almost  reproached  himself  for  having 
so  wantonly  insulted  this  majestic  bird.  Heer  Antony  told 
him,  laughing,  to  remember  that  he  was  not  yet  out  of  the 
territories  of  the  lord  of  the  Dunderberg;  and  an  old  Indian 
shook  his  head,  and  observed  that  there  was  bad  luck  in  killing 
on  eagle — the  hunter,  on  the  contrary,  should  always  leave 
him  a  portion  of  his  spoils. 

Nothing,  however,  occurred  to  molest  them  on  their  voyage. 
They  passed  pleasantly  through  magnificent  and  lonely  scenes, 
until  they  came  to  where  Pollopol's  Island  lay,  like  a  floating 
bower,  at  the  extremity  of  the  highlands.  Here  they  landed, 
until  the  heat  of  the  day  should  abate,  or  a  breeze  spring  up, 
that  might  supersede  the  labour  of  the  oar.  Some  prepared 
the  mid-day  meal,  while  others  reposed  under  the  shade  of  the 
trees  in  luxurious  summer  indolence,  looking  drowsily  forth 
upon  the  beauty  of  the  scene.  On  the  one  side  were  the  high- 
lands, vast  and  cragged,  feathered  to  the  top  with  forests,  and 
throwing  their  shadows  on  the  glassy  water  that  dimpled  at 
their  feet.  On  the  other  side  was  a  wide  expanse  of  the  river, 
like  a  broad  lake,  with  long  sunny  reaches,  and  green  head- 
lands ;  and  the  distant  line  of  Shawungunk  mountains  waving 
along  a  dear  horizon,  or  checkered  by  a  fleecy  cloud. 


TEE  STORM-SHIP,  297 

But  I  forbear  to  dwell  on  the  particulars  of  their  cruise  along 
the  river ;  this  vagrant,  amphibious  lif  e,  careering  across  silver 
sheets  of  water;  coasting  wild  woodland  shores;  banqueting 
on  shady  promontories,  with  the  spreading  tree  overhead,  the 
river  curling  its  light  foam  to  one's  feet,  and  distant  mountain, 
and  rock,  and  tree,  and  snowy  cloud,  and  deep-blue  sky,  all 
mingling  in  summer  beauty  before  one ;  all  this,  though  never 
cloying  in  the  enjoyment,  would  be  but  tedious  in  narration. 

When  encamped  by  the  water-side,  some  of  the  party  would 
go  into  the  woods  and  hunt ;  others  would  fish :  sometimes  they 
would  amuse  themselves  by  shooting  at  a  mark,  by  leaping,  by 
running,  by  wrestling;  and  Dolph  gained  great  favour  in  the 
eyes  of  Antony  Vander  Heyden,  by  his  skill  and  adroitness  in 
all  these  exercises ;  which  the  Heer  considered  as  the  highest 
of  manly  accomplishments. 

Thus  did  they  coast  jollily  on,  choosing  only  the  pleasant 
hours  for  voyaging;  sometimes  in  the  cool  morning  dawn, 
sometimes  in  the  sober  evening  twilight,  and  sometimes  when 
the  moonshine  spangled  the  crisp  curling  waves  that  whispered 
along  the  sides  of  their  little  bark.  Never  had  Dolph  felt  so 
completely  in  his  element ;  never  had  he  met  with  any  thing 
so  completely  to  his  taste  as  this  wild,  hap-hazard  life.  He 
was  the  very  man  to  second  Antony  Vander  Heyden  in  his 
rambling  humours,  and  gained  continually  on  his  affections. 
The  heart  of  the  old  bushwhacker  yearned  toward  the  young 
man,  who  seemed  thus  growing  up  in  his  own  likeness ;  and  as 
they  approached  to  the  end  of  their  voyage,  he  could  not  help 
inquiring  a  little  into  his  history.  Dolph  frankly  told  him  his 
course  of  life,  his  severe  medical  studies,  his  little  proficiency, 
and  his  very  dubious  prospects.  The  Heer  was  shocked  to  find 
that  such  amazing  talents  and  accomplishments  were  to  be 
cramped  and  buried  under  a  doctor's  wig.  He  had  a  sovereign 
contempt  for  the  healing  art,  having  never  had  any  other  phy- 
sician than  the  butcher.  He  bore  a  mortal  grudge  to  all  kinds 
of  study  also,  ever  since  he  had  been  flogged  about  an  unintel- 
ligible book  when  he  was  a  boy.  But  to  think  that  a  young  fel- 
low like  Dolph,  of  such  wonderful  abilities,  who  could  shoot, 
fish,  run,  jump,  ride,  and  wrestle,  should  be  obliged  to  roll 
pills  and  administer  juleps  for  a  living — 'twas  monstrous !  He 
told  Dolph  never  to  despair,  but  to  "  throw  physic  to  the  dogs;" 
for  a  young  fellow  of  his  prodigious  talents  could  never  fail  to 
make  his  way.  ' '  As  you  seem  to  have  no  acquaintance  in  Al- 
bany," said  Heer  Antony,  "you  shall  go  home  with  me,  and 


298  BRACEBR1DQE  HALL. 

remain  under  my  roof  until  you  can  look  about  you ;  and  in 
the  meantime  we  can  take  an  occasional  bout  at  shooting  and 
fishing,  for  it  is  a  pity  such  talents  should  lie  idle." 

Dolph,  who  was  at  the  mercy  of  chance,  was  not  hard  to 
be  persuaded.  Indeed,  on  turning  over  matters  in  his  mind, 
which  he  did  very  sagely  and  deliberately,  he  could  not  but 
think  that  Antony  Vander  Heyden  was,  "  some  how  or  other," 
connected  with  the  story  of  the  Haunted  House ;  that  the  misad- 
venture in  the  highlands,  which  had  thrown  them  so  strangely 
together,  was,  "some  how  or  other,"  to  work  out  something 
good :  in  short,  there  is  nothing  so  convenient  as  this  ' '  some 
how  or  other"  way  of  accommodating  one's  self  to  circum- 
stances; it  is  the  main-stay  of  a  heedless  actor,  and  tardy 
reasoner,  like  Dolph  Heyliger;  and  he  who  can,  in  this  loose, 
easy  way,  link  foregone  evil  to  anticipated  good,  possesses  a 
secret  of  happiness  almost  equal  to  the  philosopher's  stone. 

On  their  arrival  at  Albany,  the  sight  of  Dolph's  companion 
seemed  to  cause  universal  satisfaction.  Many  were  the  greet- 
ings at  the  river  side,  and  the  salutations  in  the  streets:  the 
dogs  bounded  before  him;  the  boys  whooped  as  he  passed; 
every  body  seemed  to  know  Antony  Vander  Heyden.  Dolph 
followed  on  in  silence,  admiring  the  neatness  of  this  worthy 
burgh ;  for  in  those  days  Albany  was  in  all  its  glory,  and  in- 
habited almost  exclusively  by  the  descendants  of  the  original 
Dutch  settlers,  for  it  had  not  as  yet  been  discovered  and  colo- 
nized by  the  restless  people  of  New-England.  Every  thing 
was  quiet  and  orderly ;  every  thing  was  conducted  calmly  and 
leisurely;  no  hurry,  no  bustle,  no  struggling  and  scrambling 
for  existence.  The  grass  grew  about  the  unpaved  streets,  and 
relieved  the  eye  by  its  refreshing  verdure.  The  tall  sycamores 
or  pendent  willows  shaded  the  houses,  with  caterpillars  swing- 
ing, in  long  silken  strings,  from  their  branches,  or  moths,  flut- 
tering about  like  coxcombs,  in  joy  at  their  gay  transforma- 
tion. The  houses  were  built  in  the  old  Dutch  style,  with  the 
gable-ends  towards  the  street.  The  thrifty  housewife  was 
seated  on  a  bench  before  her  door,  in  close  crimped  cap,  bright 
flowered  gown,  and  white  apron,  busily  employed  in  knitting. 
The  husband  smoked  his  pipe  on  the  opposite  bench,  and  the 
little  pet  negro  girl,  seated  on  the  step  at  her  mistress'  feet, 
was  industriously  plying  her  needle.  The  swallows  sported 
about  the  caves,  or  slammed  along  the  streets,  and  brought 
back  some  rich  booty  for  their  clamorous  young ;  and  the  little 
housekeeping  wren  flew  in  and  out  of  a  Lilliputian  house,  of 


THE  STORM-SHIP.  299 

an  old  hat  nailed  against  the  wall.  The  cows  were  coming 
home,  lowing  through  the  streets,  to  be  milked  at  their  owner's 
door ;  and  if,  perchance,  there  were  any  loiterers,  some  negro 
urchin,  with  a  long  goad,  was  gently  urging  them  homewards. 

As  Dolph's  companion  passed  on,  he  received  a  tranquil  nod 
from  the  burghers,  and  a  friendly  word  from  their  wives ;  all 
calling  him  familiarly  by  the  name  of  Antony ;  for  it  was  the 
custom  in  this  strong-hold  of  the  patriarchs,  where  they  had 
all  grown  up  together  from  childhoodj  to  call  every  one  by  the 
Christian  name.  The  Heer  did  not  pause  to  have  his  usual 
jokes  with  them,  for  he  was  impatient  to  reach  his  home.  At 
length  they  arrived  at  his  mansion.  It  was  of  some  magni- 
tude, in  the  Dutch  style,  with  large  iron  figures  on  the  gables, 
that  gave  the  date  of  its  erection,  and  showed  that  it  had  been 
built  in  the  earliest  times  of  the  settlement. 

The  news  of  Heer  Antony's  arrival  had  preceded  him ;  and 
the  whole  household  was  on  the  look-out.  A  crew  of  negroes, 
large  and  small,  had  collected  in  front  of  the  house  to  receive 
him.  The  old,  white-headed  ones,  who  had  grown  gray  in  his 
service,  grinned  for  joy  and  made  many  awkward  bows  and 
grimaces,  and  the  little  ones  capered  about  his  knees.  But  the 
most  happy  being  in  the  household  was  a  little,  plump,  bloom- 
ing lass,  his  only  child,  and  the  darling  of  his  heart.  She  came 
bounding  out  of  the  house ;  but  the  sight  of  a  strange  young 
man  with  her  father  called  up,  for  a  moment,  all  the  bashful- 
ness  of  a  homebred  damsel.  Dolph  gazed  at  her  with  wonder 
and  delight ;  never  had  he  seen,  as  he  thought,  any  thing  so 
comely  in  the  shape  of  woman.  She  was  dressed  in  the  good 
old  Dutch  taste,  with  long  stays,  and  full,  short  petticoats,  so 
admirably  adapted  to  show  and  set  off  the  female  form.  Her 
hair,  turned  up  under  a  small  round  cap,  displayed  the  fairness 
of  her  forehead ;  she  had  fine,  blue,  laughing  eyes,  a  trim,  slen- 
der waist,  and  soft  swell — but,  in  a  word,  she  was  a  little 
Dutch  divinity ;  and  Dolph,  who  never  stopt  half-way  in  a  new 
impulse,  fell  desperately  in  love  with  her. 

Dolph  was  now  ushered  into  the  house  with  a  hearty  wel- 
come. In  the  interior  was  a  mingled  display  of  Heer  Antony's 
taste  and  habits,  and  of  the  opulence  of  his  predecessors.  The 
chambers  were  furnished  with  good  old  mahogany ;  the  beau- 
fets  and  cupboards  glittered  with  embossed  silver,  and  painted 
china.  Over  the  parlour  fire-place  was,  as  usual,  the  family 
coat-of-arms,  painted  and  framed;  above  which  was  a  long 
duck  f  owling-piece.  flanked  by  an  Indian  pouch,  and  a  powder* 


300  BRACEBRIDQE  HALL. 

horn.  The  room  was  decorated  with  many  Indian  articles, 
such  as  pipes  of  peace,  tomahawks,  scalping'-knives,  hunting- 
pouches,  and  belts  of  wampum ;  and  there  were  various  kinds 
of  fishing  tackle,  and  two  or  three  fowling-pieces  in  the  corners. 
The  household  affairs  seemed  to  be  conducted,  in  some  meas- 
ure, after  the  master's  humours ;  corrected,  perhaps,  by  a  little 
quiet  management  of  the  daughter's.  There  was  a  degree  ci 
patriarchal  simplicity,  and  good-humoured  indulgence.  The 
negroes  came  into  the  room  without  being  called,  merely  to 
look  at  their  master,  and  hear  of  his  adventures;  they  would 
stand  listening  at  the  door  until  he  had  finished  a  story,  and 
then  go  off  on  a  broad  grin,  to  repeat  it  in  the  kitchen.  A  couple 
of  pet  negro  children  were  playing  about  the  floor  with  the 
dogs,  and  sharing  with  them  their  bread  and  butter.  All  the 
domestics  looked  hearty  and  happy;  and  when  the  table  W.MS 
set  for  the  evening  repast,  the  variety  and  abundance  of  good 
household  luxuries  bore  testimony  to  the  openhanded  liberal- 
ity of  the  Heer,  and  the  notable  housewifery  of  his  daughter. 

In  the  evening  there  dropped  in  several  of  the  worthies  of 
the  place,  the  Van  Rennsellaers,  and  the  Gansevoorts,  and  the 
Rosebooms,  and  others  of  Antony  Vander  Heyden's  intimates, 
to  hear  an  account  of  his  expedition;  for  he  was  the  Sindbad  of 
Albany,  and  his  exploits  and  adventures  were  favourite  topics 
of  conversation  among  the  inhabitants.  While  these  sat  gossip- 
ing together  about  the  door  of  the  hall,  and  telling  long  twilight 
stories,  Dolph  was  cozily  seated,  entertaining  the  daughter  on 
a  window-bench.  He  had  already  got  on  intimate  terms ;  for 
those  were  not  tunes  of  false  reserve  and  idle  ceremony ;  and, 
besides,  there  is  something  wonderfully  propitious  to  a  lover's 
suit,  in  the  delightful  dusk  of  a  long  summer  evening;  it  gives 
courage  to  the  most  timid  tongue,  and  hides  the  blushes  of 
the  bashful.  The  stars  alone  twinkled  brightly ;  and  now  and 
then  a  fire-fly  streamed  his  transient  light  before  the  win- 
dow, or,  wandering  into  the  room,  flew  gleaming  about  tbe 
ceiling. 

What  Dolph  whispered  in  her  ear,  that  long  summer  even- 
ing, it  is  impossible  to  say :  his  words  were  so  low  and  indistinct, 
that  they  never  reached  the  ear  of  the  historian.  It  is  proba- 
ble, however,  that  they  were  to  the  purpose;  for  he  had  a 
natural  talent  at  pleasing  the  sex,  and  was  never  long  in  com- 
pany with  a  petticoat  without  paying  proper  court  to  it.  In 
the  meantime,  the  visitors,  one  by  one,  departed;  Antony  Van- 
der Heyden,  who  had  fairly  talked  himself  silent,  sat  nodding 


THIS  STORM-SHIP.  301 

alone  in  his  chair  by  the  door,  when  he  was  suddenly  aroused 
by  a  hearty  salute  with  which  Dolph  Heyliger  had  unguardedly 
rounded  off  one  of  his  periods,  and  which  echoed  through  the 
still  chamber  like  the  report  of  a  pistol.  The  Heer  started  up, 
rubbed  his  eyes,  called  for  lights,  and  observed,  that  it  was 
high  time  to  go  to  bed;  though,  on  parting  for  the  night,  he 
1  squeezed  Dolph  heartily  by  the  hand,  looked  kindly  in  his  face, 
and  shook  his  head  knowingly ;  for  the  Heer  well  remembered 
what  he  himself  had  been  at  the  youngster's  age. 

The  chamber  in  which  our  hero  was  lodged  was  spacious,  and 
panelled  with  oak.  It  was  furnished  with  clothes-presses,  and 
mighty  chests  of  drawers,  well  waxed,  and  glittering  with 
brass  ornaments.  These  contained  ample  stock  of  family  linen ; 
for  the  Dutch  housewives  had  always  a  laudable  pride  in  show- 
ing off  their  household  treasures  to  strangers. 

Dolph's  mind,  however,  was  too  full  to  take  particular  note 
of  the  objects  around  him ;  yet  he  could  not  help  continually 
comparing  the  free,  open-hearted  cheeriness  of  this  establish- 
ment with  the  starveling,  sordid,  joyless  housekeeping  at  Doc- 
tor Knipperhausen's.  Still  there  was  something  that  marred 
the  enjoyment— the  idea  that  he  must  take  leave  of  his  hearty 
host  and  pretty  hostess  and  cast  himself  once  more  adrift  upon 
the  world.  To  linger  here  would  be  folly ;  he  should  only  get 
deeper  in  love ;  and  for  a  poor  varlet  like  himself  to  aspire  to 
the  daughter  of  the  great  Heer  Vander  Heyden — it  was  mad- 
ness to  think  of  such  a  thing !  The  very  kindness  that  the  girl 
had  shown  towards  him  prompted  him,  on  reflection,  to  hasten 
his  departure ;  it  would  be  a  poor  return  for  the  frank  hos- 
pitality of  his  host  to  entangle  his  daughter's  heart  in  an  in- 
judicious attachment.  In  a  word,  Dolph  was  like  many  other 
young  reasoners,  of  exceeding  good  hearts  and  giddy  heads, 
who  think  after  they  act,  and  act  differently  from  what  they 
think ;  who  make  excellent  determinations  overnight  and  for- 
get to  keep  them  the  next  morning. 

"This  is  a  fine  conclusion,  truly,  of  my  voyage,"  said  he,  as 
he  almost  buried  himself  in  a  sumptuous  feather-bed,  and  drew 
the  fresh  white  sheets  up  to  his  chin.  "Here  am  I,  instead  of 
finding  a  bag  of  money  to  carry  home,  launched  in  a  strange 
place,  with  scarcely  a  stiver  in  my  pocket ;  and,  what  is  worse, 
have  jumped  ashore  up  to  my  very  ears  in  love  into  the  bar- 
gain. However,"  added  he,  after  some  pause,  stretching  him- 
self and  turning  himself  in  bed,  ' '  I'm  in  good  quarters  for  the 
present,  at  least ;  so  I'll  e'en  enjoy  the  present  moment,  and  let 


802  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

the  next  take  care  of  itself;  1  dare  say  all  will  work  out,  '  some 
how  or  other,'  for  the  best." 

As  he  said  these  words,  he  reached  out  his  hand  to  extinguish 
the  candle,  when  he  was  suddenly  struck  with  astonishment 
and  dismay,  for  he  thought  he  beheld  the  phantom  of  the 
haunted  house  staring  on  him  from  a  dusky  part  of  the  cham- 
ber. A  second  look  reassured  him,  as  he  perceived  that  wlK-.t 
he  had  taken  for  the  spectre  was,  in  fact,  nothing  but  a  Flem- 
ish portrait,  that  hung  in  a  shadowy  corner  just  behind  a 
clothes-press.  It  was,  however,  the  precise  representation  of 
his  nightly  visitor :— the  same  cloak  and  belted  jerkin,  the  same 
grizzled  beard  and  fixed  eye,  the  same  broad  slouched  hat,  with 
a  feather  hanging  over  one  side.  Dolph  now  called  to  mind 
the  resemblance  he  had  frequently  remarked  between  his  host 
and  the  old  man  of  the  haunted  house ;  and  was  fully  convinced 
that  they  were  in  some  way  connected,  and  that  some  especial 
destiny  had  governed  his  voyage.  He  lay  gazing  on  the  por- 
trait with  almost  as  much  awe  as  he  had  gazed  on  the  ghostly 
original,  until  the  shrill  house-clock  warned  him  of  the  lateness 
of  the  hour.  He  put  out  the  light ;  but  remained  for  a  long 
time  turning  over  these  curious  circumstances  and  coincidences 
in  his  mind,  until  he  fell  asleep.  His  dreams  partook  of  the 
nature  of  his  waking  thoughts.  He  fancied  that  he  still  lay 
gazing  on  the  picture,  until,  by  degrees,  it  became  animated ; 
that  the  figure  descended  from  the  wall  and  walked  out  of  the 
room ;  that  he  followed  it  and  found  himself  by  the  well,  to 
which  the  old  man  pointed,  smiled  on  him,  and  disappeared. 

In  the  morning  when  Dolph  waked,  he  found  his  host  stand- 
ing by  his  bed-side,  who  gave  him  a  hearty  morning's  saluta- 
tion, and  asked  him  how  he  had  slept.  Dolph  ansvored 
cheerily ;  but  took  occasion  to  inquire  about  the  portrait  that 
hung  against  the  wall.  "Ah,"  said  Heer  Antony,  "that's  a 
portrait  of  old  Killian  Vander  Spiegel,  once  a  burgomaster  of 
Amsterdam,  who,  on  some  popular  troubles,  abandoned  Hol- 
land and  came  over  to  the  province  during  the  government  of 
Peter  Stuyvesant.  He  was  my  ancestor  by  the  mother's  side, 
and  an  old  miserly  curmudgeon  he  was.  When  the  English 
took  posseasion  of  New-Amsterdam  in  1664,  he  retired  into  the 
country.  He  fell  into  a  melancholy,  apprehending  that  his 
wealth  would  be  taken  from  him  and  that  he  would  come  to 
beggary.  He  txirned  all  his  property  into  cash,  and  used  to 
hide  it  away.  He  was  for  a  year  or  two  concealed  in  various 
places,  fancying  himself  sought  after  by  the  English,  to  strip 


THE  STORM-SHIP.  303 

him  of  his  wealth ;  and  finally  was  found  dead  in  his  bed  one 
morning,  without  any  one  being  able  to  discover  where  he  had 
concealed  the  greater  part  of  his  money." 

When  his  host  had  left  the  room,  Dolph  remained  for  some 
time  lost  in  thought.  His  whole  mind  was  occupied  by  what 
he  had  heard.  Vander  Spiegel  was  his  mother's  family  name ; 
and  he  recollected  to  have  heard  her  speak  of  this  very  Killian 
Vander  Spiegel  as  one  of  her  ancestors.  He  had  heard  her  say, 
too,  that  her  father  was  Killian's  rightful  heir,  only  that  the 
old  man  died  without  leaving  any  thing  to  be  inherited.  It  now 
appeared  that  Heer  Antony  was  likewise  a  descendant,  and 
perhaps  an  heir  also,  of  this  poor  rich  man ;  and  that  thus  the 
Heyligers  and  the  Vander  Heydens  were  remotely  connected. 
"What,"  thought  he,  "if,  after  all,  this  is  the  interpretation  of 
my  dream,  that  this  is  the  way  I  am  to  make  my  fortune  by 
this  voyage  to  Albany,  and  that  I  am  to  find  the  old  man's 
hidden  wealth  in  the  bottom  of  that  well?  But  what  an  odd, 
round-about  mode  of  communicating  the  matter!  Why  the 
plague  could  not  the  old  goblin  have  told  me  about  the  well  at 
once,  without  sending  me  all  the  way  to  Albany  to  hear  a  story 
that  was  to  send  me  all  the  way  back  again?" 

These  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind  while  he  was  dressing. 
He  descended  the  stairs,  full  of  perplexity,  when  the  bright 
face  of  Marie  Vander  Heyden  suddenly  beamed  in  smiles  upon 
him,  and  seemed  to  give  him  a  clue  to  the  whole  mystery. 
"After  all,"  thought  he,  "  the  old  goblin  is  in  the  right.  If  I 
am  to  get  his  wealth,  he  means  that  I  shall  marry  his  pretty  de- 
scendant; thus  both  branches  of  the  family  will  be  again 
united,  and  the  property  go  on  in  the  proper  channel." 

No  sooner  did  this  idea  enter  his  head,  than  it  carried  con- 
viction with  it.  He  was  now  all  impatience  to  hurry  back  and 
secure  the  treasure,  which,  he  did  not  doubt,  lay  at  the  bottom 
of  the  well,  and  which  he  feared  every  moment  might  be  dis- 
covered by  some  other  person.  "Who  knows,"  thought  he, 
"but  this  night-walking  old  fellow  of  the  haunted  house  may 
be  in  the  habit  of  haunting  every  visitor,  and  may  give  a  hint 
to  some  shrewder  fellow  than  myself,  who  will  take  a  shorter 
cut  to  the  well  than  by  the  way  of  Albany?"  He  wished  a 
thousand  times  that  the  babbling  old  ghost  was  laid  in  the  Eed 
Sea,  and  his  rambling  portrait  with  him.  He  was  in  a  perfect 
fever  to  depart.  Two  or  three  days  elapsed  before  any  oppor- 
tunity presented  for  returning  down  the  river.  They  were  ages 
to  Dolph,  notwithstanding  that  he  was  basking  in  the  smiles  of 


304  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

the  pretty  Marie,  and  daily  getting  more  and  more  enamoured. 

At  length  the  very  sloop  from  which  he  had  been  knocked 
overboard,  prepared  to  make  sail.  Dolph  made  an  awkward 
apology  to  his  host  for  his  sudden  departure.  Antony  Vander 
Heyden  was  sorely  astonished.  He  had  concerted  half-a-dozen 
excursions  into  the  wilderness ;  and  his  Indians  were  actually 
preparing  for  a  grand  expedition  to  one  of  the  lakes.  He  took 
Dolph  aside,  and  exerted  his  eloquence  to  get  him  to  abandon 
all  thoughts  of  business,  and  to  remain  with  him — but  in  vain ; 
and  he  at  length  gave  up  the  attempt,  observing,  "  that  it  was 
a  thousand  pities  so  fine  a  young  man  should  throw  himself 
away."  Heer  Antony,  however,  gave  him  a  hearty  shake  by 
the  hand  at  parting,  with  a  favourite  fowling-piece,  and  an 
invitation  to  come  to  his  house  whenever  he  revisited  Albany. 
The  pretty  little  Marie  said  nothing;  but  as  he  gave  her  a  fare- 
well kiss,  her  dimpled  cheek  turned  pale,  and  a  tear  stood  in 
her  eye. 

Dolph  sprang  lightly  on  board  of  the  vessel.  They  hoisted 
sail;  the  wind  was  fair;  they  soon  lost  sight  of  Albany,  and 
its  green  hills,  and  embowered  islands.  They  were  wafted 
gayly  past  the  Kaatskill  mountains,  whose  fairy  heights  were 
bright  and  cloudless/  They  passed  prosperously  through  the 
highlands,  without  any  molestation  from  the  Dunderberg 
goblin  and  his  crew;  they  swept  on  across  Haverstraw  Bay, 
and  by  Croton  Point,  and  through  the  Tappaan  Zee,  and 
under  the  Palisadoes,  until,  in  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day, 
they  saw  the  promontory  of  Hoboken,  hanging  like  a  cloud  in 
the  air;  and,  shortly  after,  the  roofs  of  the  Manhatt^es  rising 
out  of  the  water. 

Dolph's  first  care  was  to  repair  to  his  mother's  house ;  for  he 
was  continually  goaded  by  the  idea  of  the  uneasiness  she  must 
experience  on  his  account.  He  was  puzzling  his  brains,  as  he 
went  along,  to  think  how  he  should  account  for  his  absence, 
without  betraying  the  secrets  of  the  haunted  house.  In  the 
midst  of  these  cogitations,  he  entered  the  street  in  which  his 
mother's  house  was  situated,  when  he  was  thunderstruck  at 
beholding  it  a  heap  of  ruins. 

There  had  evidently  been  a  great  fire,  which  had  destroyed 
several  large  houses,  and  the  humble  dwelling  of  poor  Dame 
Heyliger  had  been  involved  in  the  conflagration.  The  walls 
were  not  so  completely  destroyed  but  that  Dolph  could  distin- 
guish some  traces  of  the  scene  of  his  childhood.  The  fire-place, 
about  which  he  had  often  played,  still  remained,  ornamented 


TSB  STOHM-SHIP.  305 

with  Dutch  tiles,  illustrating  passages  in  Bible  history,  on 
which  he  had  many  a  time  gazed  with  admiration.  Among 
the  rubbish  lay  the  wreck  of  the  good  dame's  elbow-chair,  from 
which  she  had  given  him  so  many  a  wholesome  precept ;  and 
hard  by  it  was  the  family  Bible,  with  brass  clasps ;  now,  alas ! 
reduced  almost  to  a  cinder. 

For  a  moment  Dolph  was  overcome  by  this  dismal  sight,  for 
he  was  seized  with  the  fear  that  his  mother  had  perished  in  the 
flames.  He  was  relieved,  however,  from  this  horrible  appre- 
hension, by  one  of  the  neighbours  who  happened  to  come  by, 
and  who  informed  him  that  his  mother  was  yet  alive. 

The  good  woman  had,  indeed,  lost  every  thing  by  this  un- 
looked-for calamity ;  for  the  populace  had  been  so  intent  upon 
saving  the  fine  furniture  of  her  rich  neighbours,  that  the  little 
tenement,  and  the  little  all  of  poor  Dame  Heyliger,  had  been 
suffered  to  consume  without  interruption ;  nay,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  gallant  assistance  of  her  old  crony,  Peter  de  Groodt,  the 
worthy  dame  and  her  cat  might  have  shared  the  fate  of  their 
habitation. 

As  it  was,  she  had  been  overcome  with  fright  and  affliction, 
and  lay  ill  in  body,  and  sick  at  heart.  The  public,  however, 
had  showed  her  its  wonted  kindness.  The  furniture  of  her  rich 
neighbours  being,  as  far  as  possible,  rescued  from  the  flames ; 
themselves  duly  and  ceremoniously  visited  and  condoled  with 
on  the  injury  of  their  property,  and  their  ladies  commiserated 
on  the  agitation  of  their  nerves ;  the  public,  at  length,  began  to 
recollect  something  about  poor  Dame  Heyliger.  She  forthwith 
became  again  a  subject  of  universal  sympathy;  every  body 
pitied  more  than  ever;  and  if  pity  could  but  have  been  coined 
into  cash— good  Lord !  how  rich  she  would  have  been ! 

It  was  now  determined,  in  good  earnest,  that  something 
ought  to  be  done  for  her  without  delay.  The  Dominie,  there- 
fore, put  up  prayers  for  her  on  Sunday,  in  which  all  the  con- 
gregation joined  most  heartily.  Even  Cobus  Groesbeck,  the 
alderman,  and  Mynheer  Milledollar,  the  great  Dutch  merchant, 
stood  up  in  their  pews,  and  did  not  spare  their  voices  on  the 
occasion ;  and  it  was  thought  the  prayers  of  such  great  men 
could  not  but  have  their  due  weight.  Doctor  Knipperhausen, 
too,  visited  her  professionally,  and  gave  her  abundance  of  ad- 
vice gratis,  and  was  universally  lauded  for  his  charity.  As  to 
her  old  friend,  Peter  de  Groodt,  he  was  a  poor  man,  whose 
pity,  and  prayers,  and  advice  could  be  of  but  little  avail,  so  he 
gave  her  all  that  was  in  his  power—he  gave  her  shelter. 


306  BRACEBRTDGE  HALL. 

To  the  humble  dwelling  of  Peter  de  Groodt,  then,  did  Dolph 
turn  his  steps.  On  his  way  thither,  he  recalled  all  the  tender- 
ness and  kindness  of  his  simple-hearted  parent,  her  indulgence 
of  his  errors,  her  blindness  to  his  faults;  and  then  he  be- 
thought himself  of  his  own  idle,  harum-scarum  life.  "I've 
been  a  sad  scape-grace,"  said  Dolph,  shaking  his  head  sorrow- 
fully. "I've  been  a  complete  sink-pocket,  that's  the  truth  of 
it!— But,"  added  he,  briskly,  and  clasping  his  hands,  "  only  let 
her  live — only  let  her  live — and  I'll  show  myself  indeed  a  son !" 

As  Dolph  approached  the  house,  he  met  Peter  de  Groodt 
coming  out  of  it.  The  old  man  started  back  aghast,  doubting 
whether  it  was  not  a  ghost  that  stood  before  him.  It  being 
bright  daylight,  however,  Peter  soon  plucked  up  heart,  satis- 
fied that  no  ghost  dare  show  his  face  in  such  clear  sunshine. 
Dolph  now  learned  from  the  worthy  sexton  the  consternation 
and  rumour  to  which  his  mysterious  disappearance  had  gm-n 
rise.  It  had  been  universally  believed  that  he  had  been 
spirited  away  by  those  hobgoblin  gentry  that  infested  the 
haunted  house;  and  old  Abraham  Vandozer,  who  lived  by  tho 
great  button- wood  trees,  at  the  three-mile  stone,  affirmed,  that 
he  had  heard  a  terrible  noise  in  the  air,  as  he  was  going  home 
late  at  night,  which  seemed  just  as  if  a  flight  of  wild  geese  were 
overhead,  passing  off  towards  the  northward.  The  haunted 
house  was,  in  consequence,  looked  upon  with  ten  times  more 
awe  than  ever ;  nobody  would  venture  to  pass  a  night  in  it  for 
the  world,  and  even  the  doctor  had  ceased  to  make  his  expedi- 
tions to  it  in  the  day-time. 

It  required  some  preparation  before  Dolph's  return  could  be 
made  known  to  his  mother,  the  poor  soul  having  bewailed  him 
as  lost ;  and  her  spirits  having  been  sorely  broken  down  by  a 
number  of  comforters,  who  daily  cheered  her  with  stories  of 
ghosts,  and  of  people  carried  away  by  the  devil.  He  found 
her  confined  to  her  bed,  with  the  other  member  of  the  Hey- 
liger  family,  the  good  dame's  cat,  purring  beside  her,  but  sadly 
singed,  and  utterly  despoiled  of  those  whiskers  which  were  the 
glory  of  her  physiognomy.  The  poor  woman  threw  her  arms 
about  Dolph's  neck:  "  My  boy!  my  boy!  art  thou  still  alive?" 
For  a  time  she  seemed  to  have  forgotten  all  her  losses  and 
troubles,  in  her  joy  at  his  return.  Even  the  sage  grimalkin 
showed  indubitable  signs  of  joy,  at  the  return  of  the  youngster. 
She  saw,  perhaps,  that  they  were  a  forlorn  and  undone  family, 
and  felt  a  touch  of  that  kindliness  which  fellow-sufferers  only 
know.  But,  in  truth,  cats  are  a  slandered  people ;  they  have 


THE  STORM  SHIP.  307 

more  affection  in  them  than  the  world  commonly  gives  them 
credit  for. 

The  good  dame's  eyes  glistened  as  she  saw  one  being,  at 
least,  beside  herself,  rejoiced  at  her  son's  return.  "  Tib  knows 
thee!  poor  dumb  beast!"  said  she,  smoothing  down  the  mot- 
tled coat  of  her  favourite;  then  recollecting  herself,  with  a 
melancholy  shake  of  the  head,  "Ah,  my  poor  Dolph!"  ex- 
claimed she,  "thy  mother  can  help  thee  no  longer!  She  can 
no  longer  help  herself !  What  will  become  of  thee,  my  poor 
boy!" 

"Mother,"  said  Dolph,  "don't  talk  in  that  strain ;  I've  bees 
too  long  a  charge  upon  you ;  it's  now  my  part  to  take  care  of 
you  in  your  old  days.  Come !  be  of  good  heart !  you,  and  I, 
and  Tib,  will  all  see  better  days.  I'm  here,  you  see,  young, 
and  sound,  and  hearty ;  then  don't  let  us  despair ;  I  dare  say 
things  will  all,  some  how  or  other,  turn  out  for  the  best." 

While  this  scene  was  going  on  with  the  Heyliger  family,  the 
news  was  carried  to  Doctor  Knipperhausen,  of  the  safe  return 
of  his  disciple.  The  little  doctor  scarcely  knew  whether  to  re- 
joice or  be  sorry  at  the  tidings.  He  was  happy  at  having  the 
foul  reports  which  had  prevailed  concerning  his  country  man- 
sion thus  disproved ;  but  he  grieved  at  having  his  disciple,  of 
whom  he  had  supposed  himself  fairly  disencumbered,  thus 
drifting  back,  a  heavy  charge  upon  his  hands.  While  he  was 
balancing  between  these  two  feelings,  he  was  determined  by 
the  counsels  of  Frau  Hsy,  who  advised  him  to  take  advantage 
of  the  truant  absence  of  the  youngster,  and  shut  the  door  upon 
him  for  ever. 

At  the  hour  of  bed-time,  therefore,  when  it  was  supposed  the 
recreant  disciple  would  seek  his  old  quarters,  every  thing  was 
prepared  for  his  reception.  Dolph,  having  talked  his  mother 
into  a  state  of  tranquillity,  sought  the  mansion  of  his  quondam 
master,  and  raised  the  knocker  with  a  faltering  hand.  Scarce- 
ly, however,  had  it  given  a  dubious  rap,  when  the  doctor's 
head,  in  a  red  night-cap,  popped  out  of  one  window,  and  the 
housekeeper's,  in  a  white  night-cap,  out  of  another.  He  was 
now  greeted  with  a  tremendous  volley  of  hard  names  and  hard 
language,  mingled  with  invaluable  pieces  of  advice,  such  as  are 
seldom  ventured  to  be  given  excepting  to  a  friend  in  distress, 
or  a  culprit  at  the  bar.  In  a  few  moments,  not  a  window  in 
the  street  but  had  its  particular  night-cap,  Listening  to  the 
shrill  treble  of  Frau  Ilsy,  and  the  guttural  croaking  of  Dr. 
Knipperhausen ;  and  the  word  went  from  window  to  window, 


308  SRACEBRTDOE  HALL. 

"  Ah!  here's  Dolph  Heyliger  come  back,  and  at  his  old  pranks 
again."  In  short,  poor  Dolph  found  he  was  likely  to  get 
nothing  from  the  doctor  but  good  advice — a  commodity  so 
abundant  as  even  to  be  thrown  out  of  the  window ;  so  he  was 
fain  to  beat  a  retreat,  and  take  up  his  quarters  for  the  night 
under  the  lowly  roof  of  honest  Peter  de  Groodt. 

The  next  morning,  bright  and  early,  Dolph  was  at  the 
haunted  house.  Every  thing  looked  just  as  he  had  left  it. 
The  fields  were  grass-grown  and  matted,  and  it  appeared  as  if 
nobody  had  traversed  them  since  his  departure.  With  palpi- 
tating heart,  he  hastened  to  the  well.  He  looked  down  into  it, 
and  saw  that  it  was  of  great  depth,  with  water  at  the  bottom. 
He  had  provided  himself  with  a  strong  line,  such  as  the  fish- 
ermen use  on  the  banks  of  Newfoundland.  At  the  end  was  a 
heavy  plummet  and  a  large  fish-hook.  With  this  he  began  to 
sound  the  bottom  of  the  well,  and  to  angle  about  in  the  water. 
He  found  that  the  water  was  of  some  depth ;  there  appeared 
also  to  be  much  rubbish,  stones  from  the  top  having  fallen  in. 
Several  times  his  hook  got  entangled,  and  he  came  near  break- 
ing his  line.  Now  and  then,  too,  he  hauled  up  mere  trash, 
such  as  the  skull  of  a  horse,  an  iron  hoop,  and  a  shattered 
iron-bound  bucket.  He  had  now  been  several  hours  employed 
without  finding  any  thing  to  repay  his  trouble,  or  to  encourage 
him  to  proceed.  He  began  to  think  himself  a  great  fool,  to  be 
thus  decoyed  into  a  wild-goose-chase  by  mere  dreams,  and 
was  on  the  point  of  throwing  line  and  all  into  the  well,  and 
giving  up  all  further  angling. 

"  One  more  cast  of  the  line,"  said  he,  "  and  that  shall  be  the 
last."  As  he  sounded,  he  felt  the  plummet  slip,  as  it  were, 
through  the  interstices  of  loose  stones ;  and  as  he  drew  back 
the  line,  he  felt  that  the  hook  had  taken  hold  of  something 
heavy.  He  had  to  manage  his  line  with  great  caution,  lest  it 
should  be  broken  by  the  strain  upon  it.  By  degrees,  the  rub- 
bish that  lay  upon  the  article  which  he  had  hooked  gave  way ; 
he  drew  it  to  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  what  was  his  rap- 
ture at  seeing  something  like  silver  glittering  at  the  end  of  his 
line !  Almost  breathless  with  anxiety,  he  drew  it  up  to  the 
mouth  of  the  well,  surprised  at  its  great  weight,  and  fearing 
every  instant  that  his  hook  would  slip  from  its  hold,  and  his 
prize  tumble  again  to  the  bottom.  At  length  he  landed  it  safe 
beside  the  well.  It  was  a  great  silver  porringer,  of  an  ancient 
form,  richly  embossed,  and  with  armorial  bearings,  similar  to 
those  over  his  mother's  mantel-piece,  engraved  on  its  side. 


THE  STORM-SHIP.  309 

The  lid  was  fastened  down  by  several  twists  of  wire ;  Dolph 
loosened  them  with  a  trembling  hand,  and  on  lifting  the  lid, 
behold!  the  vessel  was  filled  with  broad  golden  pieces,  of  a 
coinage  which  he  had  never  seen  before!  It  was  evident  he 
had  lit  on  the  place  where  Killian  Vander  Spiegel  had  con- 
coaled  his  treasure. 

Fearful  of  being  seen  by  some  straggler,  he  cautiously  retired, 
and  buried  his  pot  of  money  in  a  secret  place.  He  now  spread 
terrible  stories  about  the  haunted  house,  and  deterred  every 
one  from  approaching  it,  while  he  made  frequent  visits  to  it  on 
stormy  days,  when  no  one  was  stirring  in  the  neighbouring 
fields;  though,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  did  not  care  to  venture 
there  in  the  dark.  For  once  in  his  life  he  was  diligent  and 
industrious,  and  followed  up  his  new  trade  of  angling  with 
such  perseverance  and  success,  that  in  a  little  while  he  had 
hooked  up  wealth  enough  to  make  him,  in  those  moderate  days, 
a  rich  burgher  for  life. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  detail  minutely  the  rest  of  this  story: 
— to  tell  how  he  gradually  managed  to  bring  his  property  into 
use  without  exciting  surpise  and  inquiry — how  he  satisfied  all 
scruples  with  regard  to  retaining  the  property,  and  at  the  same 
time  gratified  his  own  feelings,  by  marrying  the  pretty  Marie 
Vander  Heyden — and  how  he  and  Heer  Antony  had  many  a 
merry  and  roving  expedition  together. 

I  must  not  omit  to  say,  however,  that  Dolph  took  his  mother 
home  to  li ve  with  him,  and  cherished  her  in  her  old  days.  The 
good  dame,  too,  had  the  satisfaction  of  no  longer  hearing  her 
son  made  the  theme  of  censure ;  on  the  contrary,  he  grew  daily 
in  public  esteem ;  every  body  spoke  well  of  him  and  his  wines, 
and  the  lordliest  burgomaster  was  never  known  to  decline  his 
invitation  to  dinner.  Dolph  often  related,  at  his  own  table, 
the  wicked  pranks  which  had  once  been  the  abhorrence  of  the 
town;  but  they  were  now  considered  excellent  jokes,  and  the 
gravest  dignitary  was  fain  to  hold  his  sides  when  listening  to 
them.  No  one  was  more  struck  with  Dolph's  increasing  merit, 
than  his  old  master  the  doctor ;  and  so  forgiving  was  Dolph,  that 
he  actually  employed  the  doctor  as  his  family  physician,  only 
taking  care  that  his  prescriptions  should  be  always  thrown  out 
of  the  window.  His  mother  had  often  her  junto  of  old  cronies, 
to  take  a  snug  cup  of  tea  with  her  in  her  comfortable  little 
parlour;  and  Peter  de  Groodt,  as  he  sat  by  the  fire-side,  with 
one  of  her  grandchildren  on  his  knee,  would  many  a  time  con- 
gratulate her  upon  her  son  turning  out  so  great  a  man-,  upou 


310  BRACEBRIDQE  HALL. 

which  the  good  old  soul  would  wag  her  head  with  exultation, 
and  exclaim,  "Ah,  neighbour,  neighbour!  did  I  not  say  that 
Dolph  would  one  day  or  other  hold  up  his  head  with  the  beet  of 
them?" 

Thus  did  Dolph  Heyliger  go  on,  cheerily  and  prosperously, 
growing  merrier  as  he  grew  older  and  wiser,  and  completely 
falsifying  the  old  proverb  about  money  got  over  the  devil's 
back ;  for  he  made  good  use  of  his  wealth,  and  became  a  distin- 
guished citizen,  and  a  valuable  member  of  the  community.  He 
was  a  great  promoter  of  public  institutions,  such  as  beef -steak 
societies  and  catch-clubs.  He  presided  at  all  public  dinners, 
and  was  the  first  that  introduced  turtle  from  the  West  Indies. 
He  improved  the  breed  of  race-horses  and  game-cocks,  and  was 
so  great  a  patron  of  modest  merit,  that  any  one  who  could  sing 
a  good  song,  or  tell  a  good  story,  was  sure  to  find  a  place  at  his 
table. 

He  was  a  member,  too,  of  the  corporation,  made  several  laws 
for  the  protection  of  game  and  oysters,  and  bequeathed  to  the 
board  a  large  silver  punch-bowl,  made  out  of  the  identical 
porringer  before  mentioned,  and  which  is  in  the  possession  of 
the  corporation  to  this  very  day. 

Finally,  he  died,  in  a  florid  old  age,  of  an  apoplexy,  at  a  cor- 
poration feast,  and  was  buried  with  great  honours  in  the  yard 
of  the  little  Dutch  church  in  Garden-street,  where  his  tomb- 
stone may  still  be  seen,  with  a  modest  epitaph  in  Dutch,  by  his 
friend  Mynheer  Justus  Benson,  an  ancient  and  excellent  poet  of 
the  province. 

The  foregoing  tale  rests  on  better  authority  than  most  tales 
of  the  kind,  as  I  have  it  at  second-hand  from  the  lips  of  Dolph 
Heyliger  himself.  He  never  related  it  till  towards  the  latter 
part  of  his  life,  and  then  in  great  confidence,  (for  he  was  very 
discreet,)  to  a  few  of  his  particular  cronies  at  his  own  table 
over  a  supernumerary  bowl  of  punch ;  and,  strange  as  the  hob- 
goblin parts  of  the  story  may  seem,  there  never  was  a  single 
doubt  expressed  on  the  subject  by  any  of  his  guests.  It  may 
not  be  amiss,  before  concluding,  to  observe  that,  in  addition  to 
his  other  accomplishments,  Dolph  Heyliger  was  noted  for  being 
the  ablest  drawer  of  the  long-bow  in  the  whole  province. 


THE  WEDDING.  3H 


THE  WEDDING. 

No  more,  no  more,  much  honour  aye  betide 

The  lofty  bridegroom  and  the  lovely  bride; 

That  all  of  their  succeeding  days  may  say, 

Each  day  appears  like  to  a  wedding-day. — BRAITHWAITE. 

NOTWITHSTANDING  the  doubts  and  demurs  of  Lady  Lillycraft, 
tnd  all  the  grave  objections  that  were  conjured  up  against  the 
month  of  May,  yet  the  wedding  has  at  length  happily  taken 
place.  It  was  celebrated  at  the  village  church,  in  presence  of  a 
numerous  company  of  relatives  and  friends,  and  many  of  the 
tenantry.  The  Squire  must  needs  have  something  of  the  old 
ceremonies  observed  on  the  occasion;  so,  at  the  gate  of  the 
church-yard,  several  little  girls  of  the  village,  dressed  hi  white, 
were  in  readiness  with  baskets  of  flowers,  which  they  strewed 
before  the  bride ;  and  the  butler  bore  before  her  the  bride-cup, 
a  great  silver  embossed  bowl,  one  of  the  family  relics  from  the 
days  of  the  hard  drinkers.  This  was  filled  with  rich  wine,  and 
decorated  with  a  branch  of  rosemary,  tied  with  gay  ribands, 
according  to  ancient  custom. 

"  Happy  is  the  bride  that  the  sun  shines  on,1'  says  the  old 
proverb;  and  it  was  as  sunny  and  auspicious  a  morning  as 
heart  could  wish.  The  bride  looked  uncommonly  beautiful; 
but,  in  fact,  what  woman  does  not  look  interesting  on  her 
wedding-day?  I  know  no  sight  more  charming  and  touching 
than  that  of  a  young  and  timid  bride,  in  her  robes  of  virgin  white, 
led  up  trembling  to  the  altar.  When  I  thus  behold  a  lovely 
girl,  in  the  tenderness  of  her  years,  forsaking  the  house  of  her 
fathers  and  the  home  of  her  childhood ;  and,  with  the  implicit 
confiding,  and  the  sweet  self-abandonment,  which  belong  to 
woman,  giving  up  all  the  world  for  the  man  of  her  choice : 
when  I  hear  her,  in  the  good  old  language  of  the  ritual,  yielding 
herself  to  him  "  for  better  for  worse,  for  richer  for  poorer,  in 
sickness  and  in  health,  to  love,  honour  and  obey,  till  death  us  do 
part,"  it  brings  to  my  mind  the  beautiful  and  affecting  self- 
devotion  of  Ruth:  "Whither  thou  goest  I  will  go,  and  where 
thou  lodgest  I  will  lodge ;  thy  people  shall  be  my  people,  and 
thy  God  my  God." 

The  fair  Julia  was  supported  on  the  trying  occasion  by  Lady 
Lillycraft,  whose  heart  was  overflowing  with  its  wonted  syn> 
pathy  in  all  matters  of  love  and  matrimony.  As  the  bride 
approached  the  altar,  her  face  would  be  one  moment  covered 


312  BRACEBE1DOE  HALL. 

•with  blushes,  and  the  next  deadly  pale ;  and  she  seemed  almost 
ready  to  shrink  from  sight  among  her  female  companions. 

I  do  not  know  what  it  is  that  makes  every  one  serious,  and, 
as  it  were,  awe-struck,  at  a  marriage  ceremony — which  is  gen- 
erally considered  as  an  occasion  of  festivity  and  rejoicing.  As 
the  ceremony  was  performing,  I  observed  many  a  rosy  face 
among  the  country  girls  turn  pale,  and  I  did  not  see  a  smile 
throughout  the  church.  The  young  ladies  from  the  Hall  were 
almost  as  much  frightened  as  if  it  had  been  their  own  case, 
and  stole  many  a  look  of  sympathy  at  their  trembling  com- 
panion. A  tear  stood  in  the  eye  of  the  sensitive  Lady  Lolly- 
craft  ;  and  as  to  Phcebe  Wilkins,  who  was  present,  she  abso- 
lutely wept  and  sobbed  aloud ;  but  it  is  hard  to  tell,  half  the 
time,  what  these  fond  foolish  creatures  are  crying  about. 

The  captain,  too,  though  naturally  gay  and  unconcerned, 
was  much  agitated  on  the  occasion;  and,  in  attempting  to  put 
the  ring  upon  the  bride's  finger,  dropped  it  on  the  floor; 
which  Lady  Lilly  craft  has  since  assured  me  is  a  very  lucky 
omen.  Even  Master  Simon  had  lost  his  usual  vivacity,  ;m<l 
had  assumed  a  most  whimsically  solemn  face,  which  he  is  apt 
to  do  on  all  occasions  of  ceremony,  fle  had  much  whispering 
with  the  parson  and  parish-clerk,  for  he  is  always  a  busy  per- 
sonage in  the  scene,  and  he  echoed  the  clerk's  amen  with  a 
solemnity  and  devotion  that  edified  the  whole  assemblage. 

The  moment,  however,  that  the  ceremony  was  over,  the 
transition  was  magical.  The  bride-cup  was  passed  round, 
according  to  ancient  usage,  for  the  company  to  drink  to  a 
happy  union ;  every  one's  feelings  seemed  to  break  forth  from 
restraint.  Master  Simon  had  a  world  of  bachelor  pleasantries 
to  utter;  and  as  to  the  gallant  general,  he  bowed  and  cooed 
about  the  dulcet  Lady  Lillycraft,  like  a  mighty  cock-pigeon 
about  his  dame. 

|  The  villagers  gathered  in  the  church-yard,  to  cheer  the  happy 
couple  as  they  left  the  church ;  and  the  musical  tailor  had  mar- 
shalled his  band,  and  set  up  a  hideous  discord,  as  the  blushing 
and  smiling  bride  passed  through  a  lane  of  honest  peasantry  to 
her  carriage.  The  children  shouted,  and  threw  up  their  hats ; 
the  bells  rung  a  merry  peal,  that  set  all  the  crows  and  rooks 
flying  and  cawing  about  the  air,  and  threatened  to  bring  down 
the  battlements  of  the  old  tower ;  and  there  was  a  continual 
popping  off  of  rusty  fire-locks  from  every  part  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood. 

The  prodigal  son  distinguished  himself  on  the  occasion,  hav- 


THE  WEDDING.  313 

ing  hoisted  a  flag  on  the  top  of  the  school-house,  and  kept  the 
village  in  a  hubbub  from  sunrise,  with  the  sound  of  drum  and 
fife  and  pandean  pipe ;  in  which  species  of  music  several  of  his 
scholars  are  making  wonderful  proficiency.  In  his  great  zeal, 
however,  he  had  nearly  done  mischief ;  for  on  returning  from 
church,  the  horses  of  the  bride's  carriage  took  fright  from  the 
discharge  of  a  row  of  old  gun-barrels,  which  he  had  mounted 
as  a  park  of  artillery  in  front  of  the  school-house,  to  give  the 
captain  a  military  salute  as  he  passed. 

The  day  passed  off  with  great  rustic  rejoicing.  Tables  were 
spread  under  the  trees  in  the  park,  where  all  the  peasantry  of 
the  neighbourhood  were  regaled  with  roast-beef  and  plum- 
pudding  and  oceans  of  ale.  Ready-Money  Jack  presided  at 
one  of  the  tables,  and  became  so  full  of  good  cheer,  as  to  un- 
bend from  his  usual  gravity,  to  sing  a  song  out  of  all  tune,  and 
give  two  or  three  shouts  of  laughter,  that  almost  electrified  his 
neighbours,  like  so  many  peals  of  thunder.  The  schoolmaster 
and  the  apothecary  vied  with  each  other  in  making  speeches 
over  their  liquor ;  and  there  were  occasional  glees  and  musical 
performances  by  the  village  band,  that  must  have  frightened 
every  faun  and  dryad  from  the  park.  Even  old  Christy,  who 
had  got  on  a  new  dress  from  top  to  toe,  and  shone  in  all  the 
splendour  of  bright  leather  breeches  and  an  enormous  wedding 
favour  in  his  cap,  forgot  his  usual  crustiness,  became  inspired 
by  wine  and  wassel,  and  absolutely  danced  a  hornpipe  on  one 
of  the  tables,  with  all  the  grace  and  agility  of  a  manikin  hung 
upon  wires. 

Equal  gayety  reigned  within  doors,  where  a  large  party  of 
friends  were  entertained.  Every  one  laughed  at  his  own 
pleasantry,  without  attending  to  that  of  his  neighbours. 
Loads  of  bride-cake  were  distributed.  The  young  ladies  were 
all  busy  in  passing  morsels  of  it  through  the  wedding-ring  to 
dream  on,  and  I  myself  assisted  a  few  little  boarding-school 
girls  in  putting  up  a  quantity  for  their  companions,  which  I 
have  no  doubt  will  set  all  the  little  heads  in  the  school  gadding, 
for  a  week  at  least. 

After  dinner,  all  the  company,  great  and  small,  gentle  and 
simple,  abandoned  themselves  to  the  dance:  not  the  modern 
quadrille,  with  its  graceful  gravity,  but  the  merry,  social,  old 
country-dance ;  the  true  dance,  as  the  Squire  says,  for  a  wed- 
ding occasion,  as  it  sets  all  the  world  jigging  in  couples,  hand 
in  ^and,  and  makes  every  eye  and  every  heart  dance  merrily 
to  the  music.  According  to  frank  old  usage,  the  gentlefolks  of 


314  BHAVEBRIDOE  HALL. 

the  Hall  mingled  for  a  time  in  the  dance  of  the  peasantry,  who 
had  a  great  tent  erected  for  a  ball-room ;  and  I  think  I  never 
saw  Master  Simon  more  in  his  element,  than  when  figuring 
about  among  his  rustic  admirers,  as  master  of  the  ceremonies ; 
and,  with  a  mingled  air  of  protection  and  gallantry,  leading 
out  the  quondam  Queen  of  May,  all  blushing  at  the  signal 
honour  conferred  upon  her. 

In  the  evening  the  whole  village  was  illuminated,  excepting 
the  house  of  the  radical,  who  has  not  shown  his  face  during 
the  rejoicings.  There  was  a  display  of  fire-works  at  the 
school-house,  got  up  by  the  prodigal  son,  which  had  well-nigh 
set  fire  to  the  building.  The  Squire  is  so  much  pleased  with 
the  extraordinary  services  of  this  last  mentioned  worthy,  that 
he  talks  of  enrolling  him  in  his  list  of  valuable  retainers,  and 
promoting  him  to  some  important  post  on  the  estate;  per- 
adventure  to  be  falconer,  if  the  hawks  can  ever  be  brought 
into  proper  training. 

There  is  a  well-known  old  proverb,  that  says  "one  wedding 
makes  many," — or  something  to  the  same  purpose;  and  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  it  ho)  Is  good  in  the  present  instance. 
I  have  seen  several  flirtations  among  the  young  people,  that 
have  been  brought  together  on  this  occasion ;  and  a  great  deal 
of  strolling  about  in  pairs,  among  the  retired  walks  and  blos- 
soming shrubberies  of  the  old  garden :  and  if  groves  were  really 
given  to  whispering,  as  poets  would  fain  make  us  believe, 
Heaven  knows  what  love  tales  the  grave-looking  old  trees 
about  this  venerable  country -seat  might  blab  to  the  world. 

The  general,  too,  has  waxed  very  zealous  in  his  devotions 
within  the  last  few  days,  as  the  time  of  her  ladyship's  depar- 
ture approaches.  I  observed  him  casting  many  a  tender  look 
at  her  during  the  wedding  dinner,  while  the  courses  were 
changing;  though  he  was  always  liable  to  lx?  interrupted  in 
his  adoration  by  the  appearance  of  any  new  delicacy.  The 
general,  hi  fact,  has  arrived  at  that  time  of  life  when  the  heart 
and  the  stomach  maintain  a  kind  of  balance  of  power,  and 
when  a  man  is  apt  to  be  perplexed  in  his  affections  between  a 
fine  woman  and  a  truffled  turkey.  Her  ladyship  was  certainly 
rivalled,  through  the  whole  of  the  first  course,  by  a  dish  of 
stewed  carp ;  and  there  was  one  glance,  which  was  evidently 
intended  to  be  a  point-blank  shot  at  her  heart,  and  could 
scarcely  have  failed  to  effect  a  practicable  breach,  had  it  not 
unluckily  been  directed  away  to  a  tempting  breast  of  lamb,  in 
which  it  immediately  produced  a  formidable  incision. 


THE  WEDDING.  316 

Thus  did  this  faithless  general  go  on,  coquetting  during  the 
whole  dinner,  and  committing  an  infidelity  with  every  new 
dish ;  until,  in  the  end,  he  was  so  overpowered  by  the  attentions 
he  had  paid  to  fish,  flesh,  and  fowl ;  to  pastry,  jelly,  cream,  and 
blanc-mange,  that  he  seemed  to  sink  within  himself :  his  eyes 
swam  beneath  their  lids,  and  their  fire  was  so  much  slackened, 
that  he  could  no  longer  discharge  a  single  glance  that  would 
reach  across  the  table.  Upon  the  whole,  I  f ear  the  general  ate  i 
himself  into  as  much  disgrace,  at  this  memorable  dinner,  as  I 
have  seen  him  sleep  himself  into  on  a  former  occasion. 

I  am  told,  moreover,  that  young  Jack  Tibbets  was  so  touched 
by  the  wedding  ceremony,  at  which  he  was  present,  and  so 
captivated  by  the  sensibility  of  poor  Phoebe  Wilkins,  who  cer- 
tainly looked  all  the  better  for  her  tears,  that  he  had  a  recon- 
ciliation with  her  that  very  day,  after  dinner,  in  one  of  the 
groves  of  the  park,  and  danced  with  her  hi  the  evening ;  to  the 
complete  confusion  of  all  Dame  Tibbets'  domestic  politics.  I  met 
them  walking  together  in  the  park,  shortly  after  the  reconcili- 
ation must  have  taken  place.  Young  Jack  carried  himself 
gayly  and  manfully ;  but  Phoebe  hung  her  head,  blushing,  as  I 
approached.  However,  just  as  she  passed  me,  and  dropped  a 
curtsy,  I  caught  a  shy  gleam  of  her  eye  from  under  her  bon- 
net ;  but  it  was  immediately  cast  down  again.  I  saw  enough 
in  that  single  gleam,  and  in  the  involuntary  smile  that  dimpled 
about  her  rosy  lips,  to  feel  satisfied  that  the  little  gipsy's  heart 
was  happy  again. 

What  is  more,  Lady  Lillycraft,  with  her  usual  benevolence 
and  zeal  in  all  matters  of  this  tender  nature,  on  hearing  of  the 
reconciliation  of  the  lovers,  undertook  the  critical  task  of 
breaking  the  matter  to  Ready-Money  Jack.  She  thought  there 
was  no  time  like  the  present,  and  attacked  the  sturdy  old  yeo- 
man that  very  evening  in  the  park,  while  his  heart  was  yet 
lifted  up  with  the  Squire's  good  cheer.  Jack  was  a  little  sur- 
prised at  being  drawn  aside  by  her  ladyship,  but  was  not  to  be 
flurried  by  such  an  honour:  he  was  still  more  surprised  by 
the  nature  of  her  communication,  and  by  this  first  intelligence 
of  an  aff air  which  had  been  passing  under  his  eye.  He  listened, 
however,  with  his  usual  gravity,  as  her  ladyship  represented 
the  advantages  of  the  match,  the  good  qualities  of  the  girl,  and 
the  distress  which  she  had  lately  suffered:  at  length  his  eye 
began  to  kindle,  and  his  hand  to  play  with  the  head  of  his 
cudgel.  Lady  Lillycraft  saw  that  something  in  the  narrative 
had  gone  wrong,  and  hastened  to  mollif  y  his  rising  ire  by  reiter- 


816  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

ating  the  soft-hearted  Phoebe's  merit  and  fidelity,  and  he* 
great  unhappiness;  when  old  Ready-Money  suddenly  inter- 
rupted her  by  exclaiming,  that  if  Jack  did  not  marry  the 
wench,  he'd  break  every  bone  in  his  body !  The  match,  there- 
fore, is  considered  a  settled  thing:  Dame  Tibbetsand  the  house- 
keeper have  made  friends,  and  drank  tea  together ;  and  Phoebe 
has  again  recovered  her  good  looks  and  good  spirits,  and  is 
carolling  from  morning  till  night  like  a  lark. 

But  the  most  whimsical  caprice  of  Cupid  is  one  that  I  should 
be  almost  afraid  to  mention,  did  I  not  know  that  I  was  writing 
for  readers  well  experienced  in  the  waywardness  of  this  most 
mischievous  deity.  The  morning  after  the  wedding,  therefore, 
while  Lady  Lillycraft  was,  making  preparations  for  her  depar- 
ture, an  audience  was  requested  by  her  immaculate  hand-maid, 
Mrs.  Hannah,  who,  with  much  primming  of  the  mouth,  and 
many  maidenly  hesitations,  requested  leave  to  stay  behind,  and 
that  Lady  Lillycraft  would  supply  her  place  with  some  other 
servant.  Her  ladyship  was  astonished:  "What!  Hannah 
going  to  quit  her,  that  had  li ved  with  her  so  long !" 

"Why,  one  could  not  help  it;  one  must  settle  in  life  some 
time  or  other." 

The  good  lady  was  still  lost  in  amazement ;  at  length,  the 
secret  was  gasped  from  the  dry  lips  of  the  maiden  gentlewoman : 
"  She  had  been  some  tune  thinking  of  changing  her  condi- 
tion, and  at  length  had  given  her  word,  last  evening,  to  Mr. 
Christy,  the  huntsman. 

How,  or  when,  or  where  this  singular  courtship  had  been 
carried  on,  I  have  not  been  able  to  learn ;  nor  how  she  has  been 
able,  with  the  vinegar  of  her  disposition,  to  soften  the  stony 
heart  of  old  Nimrod :  so,  however,  it  is,  and  it  has  astonished 
every  one.  With  all  her  ladyship's  love  of  match-making,  this 
last  fume  of  Hymen's  torch  has  been  too  much  for  her.  She 
has  endeavoured  to  reason  with  Mrs.  Hamuih,  but  all  in  vain ; 
her  mind  was  made  up,  and  she  grew  tart  on  the  least  contra- 
diction. Lady  Lillycraft  applied  to  the  Squire  for  his  interfer- 
ence. "She  did  not  know  what  she  should  do  without  Mrs. 
Hannah,  she  had  been  used  to  have  her  about  her  so  long  a 
time." 

The  Squire,  on  the  contrary,  rejoiced  in  the  match,  as  reliev- 
ing the  good  lady  from  a  kind  of  toilet-tyrant,  under  whose 
sway  she  had  suffered  for  years.  Instead  of  thwarting  the 
affair,  therefore,  he  has  given  it  his  full  countenance ;  and 
declares  that  he  will  set  up  the  young  couple  in  one  of  the  best 


THE  WEDDING.  317 

cottages  on  his  estate.  The  approbation  of  the  Squire  has  been 
followed  by  that  of  the  whole  household ;  they  all  declare,  that 
if  ever  matches  are  really  made  in  heaven,  this  must  have  been ; 
for  that  old  Christy  and  Mrs.  Hannah  were  as  evidently  formed 
to  be  linked  together,  as  ever  were  pepper-box  and  vinegar- 
cruet. 

As  soon  as  this  matter  was  arranged,  Lady  Lillycraft  took 
her  leave  of  the  family  at  the  Hall ;  taking  with  her  the  captain 
and  liis  blushing  bride,  who  are  to  pass  the  honeymoon  with 
her.  Master  Simon  accompanied  them  on  horseback,  and 
indeed  means  to  ride  on  ahead  to  make  preparations.  The  gen- 
eral, who  was  fishing  in  vain  for  an  invitation  to  her  seat, 
handed  her  ladyship  into  the  carriage  with  a  heavy  sigh ;  upon 
which  his  bosom  friend,  Master  Simon,  who  was  just  mounting 
his  horse,  gave  me  a  knowing  wink,  made  an  abominably  wry 
face,  and.  leaning  from  his  saddle,  whispered  loudly  in  my  ear, 
"  It  won't  do !"  Then,  putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  away  he  can- 
tered off.  The  general  stood  for  some  time  waving  his  hat 
after  the  carriage  as  it  rolled  down  the  avenue,  until  he  was 
seized  with  a  fit  of  sneezing,  from  exposing  his  head  to  the  cool 
breeze.  I  observed  that  he  returned  rather  thoughtfully  to  the 
house ;  whistling  softly  to  himself,  with  his  hands  behind  his 
back,  and  an  exceedingly  dubious  air. 

The  company  have  now  almost  all  taken  their  departure ;  I 
have  determined  to  do  the  same  to-morrow  morning;  and  I 
hope  my  reader  may  not  think  that  I  have  already  lingered  too 
long  at  the  Hall.  I  have  been  tempted  to  do  so,  however, 
because  I  thought  I  had  lit  upon  one  of  the  retired  places  where 
there  are  yet  some  traces  to  be  met  with  of  old  English  character. 
A  little  while  hence,  and  all  these  will  probably  have  passed 
away.  Ready-Money  Jack  will  sleep  with  his  fathers :  the  good 
Squire,  and  all  his  peculiarities,  will  be  buried  in  the  neighbour- 
ing church.  The  old  Hall  will  be  modernized  into  a  fashionable 
country-seat,  or,  peradventure,  a  manufactory.  The  park  will 
be  cut  up  into  petty  farms  and  kitchen-gardens.  A  daily  coach 
will  run  through  the  village;  it  will  become,  like  all  other 
commonplace  villages,  thronged  with  coachmen,  post-boys, 
tipplers,  and  politicians :  and  Christmas,  May-day,  and  all  the 
other  hearty  merry-makings  of  the  "  good  old  times,"  will  be 
forgotten 


318  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 


THE  AUTHOR'S  FAREWELL. 

And  »o  without  more  circumstance  at  all, 

I  bold  it  fit  that  we  shake  hands  and  part.— Hamlet. 

HAVING  taken  leave  of  the  Hall  and  its  inmates,  and  brought 
the  history  of  my  visit  to  something  like  a  close,  there  seems 
to  remain  nothing  further  than  to  make  my  bow,  and  exit.  It 
is  my  foible,  however,  to  get  on  such  companionable  terms 
with  my  reader  in  the  course  of  a  work,  that  it  really  costs  me 
some  pain  to  part  with  him ;  and  I  am  apt  to  keep  him  by  the 
hand,  and  have  a  few  farewell  words  at  the  end  of  my  last 
volume. 

When  I  cast  an  eye  back  upon  the  work  I  am  just  conclud- 
ing, I  cannot  but  be  sensible  how  full  it  must  6e  of  errors  and 
imperfections :  indeed,  how  should  it  be  otherwise,  writing  as  I 
do  about  subjects  and  scenes  with  which,  as  a  stranger,  I  um 
but  partially  acquainted?  Many  will  doubtless  find  cause  to 
smile  at  very  obvious  blunders  which  I  may  have  made ;  and 
many  may,  perhaps,  be  offended  at  what  they  may  conceive 
prejudiced  representations.  Some  will  think  I  might  have  said 
much  more  on  such  subjects  as  may  suit  their  peculiar  tastes; 
whilst  others  will  think  I  had  done  wiser  to  have  left  those  sub- 
jects entirely  alone. 

It  will  probably  be  said,  too,  by  some,  that  I  view  England 
with  a  partial  eye.  Perhaps  I  do ;  for  I  can  never  forget  that 
it  is  my  "father  land."  And  yet,  the  circumstances  under 
which  I  have  viewed  it  have  by  no  means  been  such  as  were 
calculated  to  produce  favourable  impressions.  For  the  greater 
part  of  the  time  that  I  have  resided  in  it,  I  have  li ved  almost 
unknowing  and  unknown ;  seeking  no  favours,  and  receiving 
none:  "  a  stranger  and  a  sojourner  in  the  land,"  and  subject 
to  all  the  chills  and  neglects  that  are  the  common  lot  of  the 
stranger. 

When  I  consider  these  circumstances,  and  recollect  how  often 
I  have  taken  up  my  pen,  with  a  mind  ill  at  ease,  and  spirits 
much  dejected  and  cast  down,  I  cannot  but  think  I  was  not 
likely  to  err  on  the  favourable  side  of  the  picture.  The  opin- 
ions I  have  given  of  English  character  have  been  the  result  of 
much  quiet,  dispassionate,  and  varied  observation.  It  is  a 
character  not  to  be  hastily  studied,  for  it  always  puts  on  a  re- 
pulsive and  ungracious  aspect  to  a  stranger.  Let  those,  then, 


TEE  AUTHORS  FAEEWELL.  319 

who  condemn  my  representations  as  too  favourable,  observe 
this  people  as  closely  and  deliberately  as  I  have  done,  and  they 
will,  probably,  change  their  opinion.  Of  one  thing,  at  any 
rate,  I  am  certain,  that  I  have  spoken  honestly  and  sincerely, 
from  the  convictions  of  my  mind,  and  the  dictates  of  my  heart. 
When  I  first  published  my  former  writings,  it  was  with  no 
hope  of  gaining  favour  in  English  eyes,  for  I  little  thought  they 
were  to  become  current  out  of  my  own  country:  and.  had  I 
merely  sought  popularity  among  my  own  countrymen,  I  should 
have  taken  a  more  direct  and  obvious  way,  by  gratifying 
rather  than  rebuking  the  angry  f eelings  that  were  then  preva- 
lent against  England. 

And  here  let  me  acknowledge  my  warm,  my  thankful  feel- 
ings, at  the  effect  produced  by  one  of  my  trivial  lucubrations. 
I  allude  to  the  essay  in  the  Sketch-Book,  on  the  subject  of  the 
literary  feuds  between  England  and  America.  I  cannot  ex- 
press the  heartfelt  delight  I  have  experienced,  at  the  unex- 
pected sympathy  and  approbation  with  which  those  remarks 
have  been  received  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic.  I  speak  this 
not  from  any  paltry  f eelings  of  gratified  vanity ;  for  I  attribute 
the  effect  to  no  merit  of  my  pen.  The  paper  in  question  was 
brief  and  casual,  and  the  ideas  it  conveyed  were  simple  and 
obvious.  "It  was  the  cause:  it  was  the  cause"  alone.  There 
was  a  predisposition  on  the  part  of  my  readers  to  be  favourably 
affected.  My  countrymen  responded  in  heart  to  the  filial  feel- 
ings I  had  avowed  in  their  name  towards  the  parent  country : 
and  there  was  a  generous  sympathy  in  every  English  bosom 
towards  a  solitary  individual,  lifting  up  his  voice  in  a  strange 
land,  to  vindicate  the  injured  character  of  his  nation.  There 
are  some  causes  so  sacred  as  to  carry  with  them  an  irresistible 
appeal  to  every  virtuous  bosom ;  and  he  needs  but  little  power 
of  eloquence,  who  defends  the  honour  of  his  wife,  his  mother, 
or  his  country. 

I  hail,  therefore,  the  success  of  that  brief  paper,  as  showing 
how  much  good  may  be  done  by  a  kind  word,  however  feeble, 
when  spoken  in  season — as  showing  how  much  dormant  good- 
feeling  actually  exists  in  each  country,  towards  the  other, 
which  only  wants  the  slightest  spark  to  kindle  it  into  a  genial 
flame — as  showing,  in  fact,  what  I  have  all  along  believed  and 
asserted,  that  the  two  nations  would  grow  together  in  esteem 
and  amity,  if  meddling  and  malignant  spirits  would  but  throw 
by  their  mischievous  pens,  and  leave  kindred  hearts  to  the 
kindly  impulses  of  nature. 


320  BRACEBRIDOE  HALL. 

I  once  more  assert,  and  I  assert  it  with  increased  conviction 
of  its  truth,  that  there  exists,  among  the  great  majority  of  my 
countrymen,  a  favourable  feeling  toward  England.  I  repeat 
this  assertion,  because  I  think  it  a  truth  that  cannot  too  often 
be  reiterated,  and  because  it  has  met  with  some  contradiction. 
Among  all  the  liberal  and  enlightened  minds  of  my  country- 
men, among  all  those  which  eventually  give  a  tone  to  national 
opinion,  there  exists  a  cordial  desire  to  be  on  terms  of  courtesy 
and  friendship.  But  at  the  same  time,  there  exists  in  those 
very  minds  a  distrust  of  reciprocal  good- will  on  the  part  of 
England.  They  have  been  rendered  morbidly  sensitive  by  the 
attacks  made  upon  their  country  by  the  English  press ;  and 
their  occasional  irritability  on  this  subject  has  been  misinter- 
preted into  a  settled  and  unnatural  hostility. 

For  my  part,  I  consider  this  jealous  sensibility  as  belonging 
to  generous  natures.  I  should  look  upon  my  countrymen  as 
fallen  indeed  from  that  independence  of  spirit  which  is  their 
birth-gift ;  as  fallen  indeed  from  that  pride  of  character  which 
they  inherit  from  the  proud  nation  from  which  they  sprung, 
could  they  tamely  sit  down  under  the  infliction  of  contumely 
and  insult.  Indeed,  the  very  impatience  which  they  show  as 
to  the  misrepresentations  of  the  press,  proves  their  respect  for 
English  opinion,  and  their  desire  for  English  amity ;  for  there 
is  never  jealousy  where  there  is  not  strong  regard. 

It  is  easy  to  say,  that  these  attacks  are  all  the  effusions  of 
worthless  scribblers,  and  treated  with  silent  contempt  by  the 
nation ;  but,  alas !  the  slanders  of  the  scribbler  travel  abroad, 
and  the  silent  contempt  of  the  nation  is  only  known  at  home. 
With  England,  then,  it  remains,  as  I  have  formerly  asserted, 
to  promote  a  mutual  spirit  of  conciliation ;  she  has  but  to  hold 
the  language  of  friendship  and  respect,  and  she  is  secure  of  the 
good-will  of  every  American  bosom.  1 

In  expressing  these  sentiments,  I  would  utter  nothing  that 
should  commit  the  proper  spirit  of  my  countrymen.  We  seek 
no  boon  at  England's  hands:  we  ask  nothing  as  a  favour. 
Her  friendship  is  not  necessary,  nor  would  her  hostility  be 
dangerous  to  our  well-being.  We  ask  nothing  from  abroad 
that  we  cannot  reciprocate.  But  with  respect  to  England,  we 
have  a  warm  feeling  of  the  heart,  the  glow  of  consanguinity 
that  still  lingers  in  our  blood.  Interest  apart— past  differences 
forgotten — we  extend  the  hand  of  old  relationship.  We  merely 
ask,  do  not  estrange  us  from  you ;  do  not  destroy  the  ancient 
tie  of  blood ;  do  not  let  scoffers  and  slanderers  drive  a  kindred 


THE  AUTHORS  FAREWELL.  321 

ation  from  your  side ;  we  would  fain  be  friends ;  do  not  corn- 
el us  to  be  enemies. 

There  needs  no  better  rallying-ground  for  international 
mity,  than  that  furnished  by  an  eminent  English  writer: 
' There  is,"  say  she,  "a  sacred  bond  between  us  of  blood  and  of 
anguage,  which  no  circumstances  can  break.  Our  literature 
nust  always  be  theirs;  and  though  their  laws  are  no  longer 
he  same  as  ours,  we  have  the  same  Bible,  and  we  address  our 
lommon  Father  in  the  same  prayer.  Nations  are  too  ready  to 
idmit  that  they  have  natural  enemies;  why  should  they  be 
ess  willing  to  believe  that  they  have  natural  friends?"* 

To  the  magnanimous  spirits  of  both  countries  must  we  trust 
;o  carry  such  a  natural  alliance  of  affection  into  full  effect.  To 
Dens  more  powerful  than  mine,  I  leave  the  noble  task  of  pro- 
noting  the  cause  of  national  amity.  To  the  intelligent  and  en- 
lightened of  my  own  country,  I  address  my  parting  voice, 
sntreating  them  to  show  themselves  superior  to  the  petty 
attacks  of  the  ignorant  and  the  worthless,  and  still  to  look  with 
dispassionate  and  philosophic  eye  to  the  moral  character  of 
England,  as  the  intellectual  source  of  our  rising  greatness; 
while  I  appeal  to  every  generous-minded  Englishman  from  the 
slanders  which  disgrace  the  press,  insult  the  understanding, 
and  belie  the  magnanimity  of  his  country :  and  I  invite  him  to 
look  to  America,  as  to  a  kindred  nation,  worthy  of  its  origin; 
giving,  in  the  healthy  vigour  of  its  growth,  the  best  of  com- 
ments on  its  parent  stock;  and  reflecting,  hi  the  dawning 
brightness  of  its  fame,  the  moral  effulgence  of  British  glory. 

I  am  sure  that  such  an  appeal  will  not  be  made  in  vain.  In- 
deed, I  have  noticed,  for  some  time  past,  an  essential  change  in 
English  sentiment  with  regard  to  America.  In  parliament, 
that  fountain-head  of  public  opinion,  there  seems  to  be  an 
emulation,  on  both  sides  of  the  house,  in  holding  the  language 
of  courtesy  and  friendship.  The  same  spirit  is  daily  becoming 
more  and  more  prevalent  hi  good  society.  There  is  a  growing 
curiosity  concerning  my  country;  a  craving  desire  for  correct 
information,  that  cannot  fail  to  lead  to  a  favourable  under- 
standing. The  scoffer,  I  trust,  has  had  his  day;  the  time  of 
the  slanderer  is  gone  by;  the  ribald  jokes,  the  stale  common- 
places, which  have  so  long  passed  current  when  America  was 

*  From  an  article  (said  to  be  by  Robert  Southey,  Esq.)  published  in  the  Quarterly 
Review.  It  is  to  be  lamented  that  that  publication  should  so  often  forget  th«  gen- 
erous text  here  given  I 


322  BRACEBRIDQE  HALL. 

the  theme,  are  now  banished  to  the  ignorant  and  the  vulgar, 
or  only  perpetuated  by  the  hireling  scribblers  and  traditional 
jesters  of  the  press.  The  intelligent  and  high-minded  now 
pride  themselves  upon  making  America  a  study. 

But  however  my  feelings  may  be  understood  or  reciprocated 
on  either  side  of  the  Atlantic,  I  utter  them  without  reserve,  for 
I  have  ever  found  that  to  speak  frankly  is  to  speak  safely.  I 
am  not  so  sanguine  as  to  believe  that  the  two  nations  are  ovn- 
to  be  bound  together  by  any  romantic  ties  of  feeling;  but  I 
believe  that  much  may  be  done  towards  keeping  alive  cor- 
dial sentiments,  were  every  well-disposed  mind  occasionally  to 
throw  in  a  simple  word  of  kindness.  If  I  have,  indeed,  pro- 
duced any  such  effect  by  my  writings,  it  will  be  a  soothing  re- 
flection to  me,  that  for  once,  in  the  course  of  a  rather  negligent 
lif e,  I  have  been  useful ;  that  for  once,  by  the  casual  exercise 
of  a  pen  which  has  been  in  general  but  too  unprofitably  em- 
ployed, I  have  awakened  a  cord  of  sympathy  between  the  land 
of  my  fathers  and  the  dear  land  that  gave  me  birth. 

In  the  spirit  of  these  sentiments,  I  now  take  my  farewell  of 
the  paternal  soil.  With  anxious  eye  do  I  behold  the  clouds  of 
doubt  and  difficulty  that  are  lowering  over  it,  and  earnestly  do 
I  hope  that  they  may  all  clear  up  into  serene  and  settled  sun- 
shine. In  bidding  this  last  adieu,  my  heart  is  filled  with  fond, 
yet  melancholy  emotions;  and  still  I  linger,  and  still,  like  a 
child  leaving  the  venerable  abodes  of  his  forefathers,  I  turn  to 
breathe  forth  a  filial  benediction:  Peace  be  within  thy  walls, 
O  England!  and  plenteousness  within  thy  palaces;  for  my 
brethren  and  my  companions'  sake  I  will  now  say,  Peace  bs 
within  thee  I 


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